The Wizard of Oz
by hepaxedemos
Summary: A serial killer is on the loose in LA,but when Charlie and Don clash over how best to catch him, the consequences are devastating. Set loosely after the Fifth Man. Bit of Colby whumping too cos I can't help it.
1. Chapter 1

_I orginally came up with this as a Colby centric story but decided that it would work better_ _like this. Obviously I own nothing and no body. Next chapter up soon._

The storage locker door was stiff and hard to push up into its roller home but Don didn't need to see into the gloom to know that beyond the metal strips was another victim of the media's latest favourite monster; the sharp smell of blood flowed out and over his FBI team as the door clattered upwards. The strip lights blinked on and cast their cold light on a scene that was all too familiar from photos of the other crime scenes. Don knew that there would be a victim and behind them words painted in red spelling out what the killer was seeking to gain from his latest kill. True to form there was a figure at the far end of the room. He was tied to a frame work so that he was effectively standing, his arms outstretched to form a cruciform shape. On the floor, placed beneath both arms was a bowl slowly filling with the blood that was dripping from the poor man's lacerated wrists. The bowls were about a third full, maybe half of a pint in each, perhaps a bit more. Something clicked in Don's head.

"He's still alive!" he yelled and rushed to get to the man, hoping to stem the flow before he completely bled out; ignoring the need to fully check that the room was clear first. He was already half way across the room when a horrific realisation hit him, almost knocking him to the floor momentarily. Behind the bent head of the victim, behind the mass of black curls, was one word in foot high red letters – knowledge.

"Charlie!" Don screamed as he reached his baby brother. He lifted the bent head, praying fervently that he was wrong. _Gotta be wrong, no, no, no, no_, but as he raised the face to the level of his own all his hope was banished as Charlie's pale face - God, too pale – met his gaze. He shook Charlie's face a little, trying to elicit some sort of response. He was dimly aware that either side of him, people were cutting the ropes that pinned his brother to the metal frame, yelling, pressing cloth onto Charlie's wrists, and desperately trying to staunch the blood as Charlie's life flowed out of him and onto the concrete floor. He supported Charlie's weight as his bonds were cut and he slumped into Don's arms. Slowly, the two brothers slid to the floor, one wrapping his arms round the other as he collapsed onto the cold and now blood soaked concrete, pleading with him to stay, to wake up, to fight. As Don sat on the floor, cradling Charlie and trying not to cry, a malicious thought popped into his head, twisting its poisonous barbs deep into his conscience: _He tried to warn you about this. Charlie knew, he'd worked it out that he next thing the guy would be after would be brains, knowledge. And you sent him away. Still angry about the stabbing weren't you, despite what you said. Well, you wanted to hurt him and congratulations you've done just that._

Don hugged his brother closer and sobbed, not caring who saw. Only one thing mattered, That was that Charlie lived. Everything else could go to hell.


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks earlier....

Don rubbed his hand across his eyes for what must have been the tenth time in less than five minutes, but it didn't help. There was no sudden revelation, no clarity, no sparking insight into who the twisted individual was who had just claimed his third victim. He sighed and picked up the photographs of the crime scene again. Put together they made a grisly tableau of a man's last moments. The victim, now identified as Harry Thatcher had been tied to a metal cross and his wrists slashed open. His blood had been drained away - forensics thought that it had possibly been caught in bowls on the floor – although what had happened to it after that was anyone's guess at this stage. Third victim, same MO as the last two made the guy an official serial killer. Don wondered briefly if they did T shirts, then frowned to himself at his lack of respect for the dead. The bureau was sending a profiler to help with the case but the team already had some theories of their own. He put the photos back into their folder and stood up, pushing his chair out of the way as he made his way over to the rest of the team who seemed to be huddled together by the coffee machine.

"What's up?" Don asked as he reached across Sinclair for his cup.

"We were just wondering if you were, er," David looked around at the others for a little support, stalling a little and hoping that someone would pick up the slack. To his horror no one said anything, he was on his own. He glared at Colby and vowed inwardly to get his partner back later.

"Going to get Charlie in?" Thankfully, Don finished the question for him. "I don't see why. We've uh, got one of the best profilers coming in from Quantico, they'll be here in less than an hour. They have more experience than Charlie in this field and to be honest guys, we need a person who can get inside this guy's head not a bunch of math." He shrugged as if to dismiss anything that Charlie might have to offer the case.

"Look, Charlie's stuff is useful most of the time but this time it is too sterile and cold. It's not the direction that we need to be heading in. It's lacking in any empathy and that's what we need now. The only way we are going to get this guy is to understand him and play him at his own game."

Colby glanced up from his coffee cup and caught David's eye, they were both thinking the same thing - _useful MOST of the time?_ - There was a change. A few months ago, Don would have looked to Charlie, arguing that his math would provide some fresh insight or angle, but ever since the stabbing, Don seemed to be distancing himself from his brother. He often refused to take Charlie's calls on the pretext that he was too busy and when he did speak to him; his responses were cool and measured. Granger and Sinclair also knew that he hadn't been over to the house for a while. Alan had commented on it the last time they had been there for dinner and Don hadn't shown. Colby had seen the suffering in the younger Eppes' brother's eyes when Don failed to appear.

Don looked around at the team; it didn't take a genius to work out that they were uncomfortable with the way his relationship with his brother was at the moment. He could understand their misgivings and he didn't mean to be so off with Charlie but things were difficult. He knew that Charlie blamed himself for what had happened but…

Don stood up straight, pushing the self analytical crap out of his head.

"Ok, let's run through what we have." As soon as he spoke, changing the subject, he felt the tension lift. Nikki spoke up first, summing up things quickly and concisely as usual.

"3 vics, all male, ages 25 – 45. Behind the first two the perp had daubed "courage", on this latest one it was "heart".

"Hence the name the press have given him, The Wizard of Oz". Liz noted dryly.

"Yeah, like that's not gonna give him a huge ego boost. I'd like a cool nickname like that. The first two were big guys, strong, Regulars at the gym, keen runners and surfers, it must have taken something special to bring these guys down."

"Yeah," Colby interjected, "Lab report came back that they had rohypnol in their systems."

"What, the date rape drug? Was there any sign of sexual assault, I mean, maybe we are looking at this from the wrong angle. Maybe these are sexually motivated crimes." Nikki felt like she was on more familiar territory here, her years in the LAPD had given her plenty of experience of the seedier side of people's natures.

"No" it was Colby that answered. "Just seems to be the drugging and the draining. Knocked them out and then dragged them to somewhere quiet where he could open them up and drain their blood."

After a moment's silence, David spoke.

"Who is the profiler we have coming?"

"Uh, Danny Brooks"

"Never heard of him."

"No, me neither but he is supposed to be good. This is his area of expertise. I guess that means we should be grateful we haven't heard about him until now. Means we haven't needed him." As Don finished speaking his cell rang, he picked it up and looked at the caller id. He hesitated for a moment and then flicked the phone open, turning his back to the team and walking a short distance away as he spoke.

"Yeah, what's up? What, no sorry, I can't, not tonight. This serial killer thing is sucking up my time. No, no, we're on it. Listen, I'm kinda busy here, can I give you a call back later? Great." When he turned back he saw the four other members of the team staring at him. It didn't take a genius to work out that they had overheard the conversation and knew who it had been with.

"What?" Don spread his arms out and smiled. "I told you. We need a different kinda expert on this one. Speaking of which I'm gonna head out to the airport to pick ours up" and without so much as a backward glance he grabbed his keys and his gun and headed out of the door.

When Don was out of sight David punched Granger in the arm.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Some partner you are! You're supposed to have my back. Where were you?"

"Hey man, you looked like you were doing fine. I would only have blundered in and made things worse." Colby grinned.

"You wait" Sinclair warned jokingly, waggling a finger at the laughing ex soldier.

"Bring it buddy, let's see what ya got"

"Oh, I've got it alright!" David bantered back at the retreating Granger. "You'll see!"

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Charlie put the phone down and then slumped into the chair that was just behind him. In a gesture very reminiscent of a different Eppes man, he ran his hand through his hair and sighed in exasperation. Larry watched him for a moment, unsure whether to offer comfort, advice or just leave well alone.

"He blew me out, again." Charlie looked up at his friend and confidante. "I don't know what to do, Larry. God, how could I have been so stupid! We'd come so far over the past few years. We'd built a relationship and now, now, now" he seemed to struggle to get the words out.

"It's not your fault." Larry offered gently

"Of course it is!" Charlie snapped back. He stood up and bean to pace.

"Well, Don doesn't seem to think so." Larry said carefully, " He has even said so on many an occasion."

"Saying is one thing, feeling is another. Our relationship was fine, right up until I got it wrong and Don got hurt. That is the variable that altered our relationship dynamic. The fact that I got it wrong. Now I can't even get him to talk to me for more than five minutes at a time. He only sees Dad when he knows that I am at work." He was talking faster and faster, getting more and more agitated. "and now he won't let me help on the serial killer case. Says he has it covered." He paused.

"He doesn't trust me or my math anymore." Charlie was quiet when he spoke but the look in his eyes spoke volumes about how much this hurt him, cut him to the absolute core. Larry winced inwardly. He knew how devastating the loss of faith would be to the younger man; it was the foundation, the bedrock of the brothers' relationship, it was what had sparked the two men being friends again. Larry knew that for that without that, the relationship might be damaged beyond repair and he didn't know if Charlie could cope with that. He watched as Charlie slowly picked up his coat and case.

"Where are you going?" He hoped fervently that Charlie wasn't about to head out to Don's office, a confrontation with his brother in his current fragile state of mind was the last thing that he needed.

"Home." Charlie said simply and walked out of the door.

"Oh, this is not good, not good at all" Larry said the closed door.

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"Dr Brooks" Don held out his hand in greeting to the FBI profiler who had just stepped off the plane from Virginia. "Don Eppes. Thanks for coming." He took the man's coat and guided him to the exit.

"Please, call me Danny and for god's sake don't call me Dr. Brooks. People always think I'm out to brain grope them the minute they find out I'm a doctor as well as an agent." Don found that he liked the man instantly. He studied him as they walked briskly towards to car. Most things he already knew, the guy was in his late 40's, tall and well groomed. He had been with the bureau for a long time and was well thought of amongst his peers. Colleagues who had worked with him in the past had described him as down to earth and amiable, a miracle in its self as most profilers seemed to occupy their own planet.

"So, Don, tell me about our boy." Don smiled, straight to the point, that's what he liked. He filled Brooks in on the facts and theories that they had so far as they drove to the office. Brooks listened but said little, making a few notes on a pad he had produced from his case. It wasn't until Don had finished relating the case that Brooks spoke and when he did it wasn't what Don had expected to hear.

"So, will I get to meet Charlie?" Don started, almost swinging the car out into oncoming traffic as he did so.

"Whoa!" Brooks exclaimed grabbing the dashboard in alarm. "Don't need to be a shrink to see I hit a nerve there" Don regained control of the car and swung thankfully into the turn off for the FBI building.

"What? No? I just didn't know you knew about him, that was all. Just caught me surprise. Sudden change of topic." _Who are you trying to kid, Eppes?_ He thought as he pulled the car into the car park.

"Yeah, sorry. It's just you don't get to meet a math genius everyday and your work with him as taken on almost legendary status in some quarters." He paused as he got out of the car. "More honestly, as a shrink, the whole dynamic you two have going on his fascinating. Sorry."

"No need to apologise. I'll hook you up with Charlie." In his head he could see how that was going to look _ Hey Charlie, we've not spoken properly for a while but I'd like you to talk with this shrink Who by the way is the guy I passed your help over for._ He couldn't really see any other way Charlie was going to take this other than badly. Well, Charlie would just have to suck it up. Don was sick of protecting him, pandering to his genius and therefore his lack of grasp of how the real world operated. It was about time Charlie got a reality check.


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie was stood at his blackboards when his father walked in, the sound of soft footsteps turning his attention away from the smooth black surfaces. Alan studied the boards for a moment before he spoke.

"Mathematician's block?" he enquired, raising one eyebrow as he spoke. Charlie didn't smile at the weak joke; instead he ran his hand through his hair and then brought it to rest on his hip. He waved his chalk stick around as he spoke.

"I just can't seem to focus. I have all this work to do for CalSci but I just can't seem to get on task. Don's case, it keeps running through my head and I am sure that if he would just let me have a look at what he has far, I am sure I could create some sort of matrix or algorithm that could possibly predict the guy's next move."

"So, why don't you ask him?"

"C'mon Dad, when was the last time Don was here when I was as well? We all know that he is avoiding me and has been for weeks." He put the chalk back on the board and walked towards the door of the garage.

"I know this tension between you and Don is upsetting, but he will come round. You always do and anyway you never know, this might be the olive branch you both need to get past this." Charlie just shrugged, unable to come up with an answer his father would be happy with that he could say convincingly enough.

"Maybe I'll talk to him." was all he could manage.

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Dr Brooks had already spent several hours looking over the files and talking to individual members of the team when Don called him into the war room.

"Well? What can you tell us?" Don asked, impatient to move forward with the case.

"From an initial study of the stuff that you sent me and the reports that I've got here, I would say that we are looking at someone who regards themselves as quite intelligent but perhaps lacking in other areas." A couple of the team glanced across at each other, they could and in fact had worked that out already. Brooks noted their response; he had been expecting it. Even though profiling was the bread and butter of FBI work these days the profilers still had to prove themselves to the teams they worked with. In the Bureau respect was earned, not given for free and he could see that as the outsider he was going to have to work hard to gain their acceptance. He picked up the giro mouse from the table and pointed it at the screen, clicking on images of the three dead men.

"Look, he wanted courage and heart. That suggests a number of different scenarios. He could be someone who was bullied at work, maybe school for being bright but physically unimpressive."

"and so couldn't get the girls" Colby interjected.

"Right! Or another possibility is that he could be someone who thinks that he has failed in some big event or task in life and he puts his failing down to lacking these qualities."

"But how is he getting these qualities he's seeking?" Nikki asked, shifting her position on the edge of the table as she spoke.

"Ahh, well that is where I think we get or biggest clue as to which of the two possibilities is most likely. I think that when he drains the blood from his vics, he is ingesting it."

There was a lot of face pulling but the team remained silent, waiting to hear more details about the man.

"Look, if you wanted "heart", the most logical thing would be to take the heart from out of the chest, right? He isn't doing that. I believe he is smart enough to know that something like that would get him caught sooner rather than later."

"Right, right. It'd be messy and he'd need surgical supplies."

"Exactly, also, it takes a lot of strength to cut through a man's chest, especially the two who worked out. There is a lot of muscle mass there. I also think that he sees these as almost 'power ups' like you get on computer games. Not only that, he may see it as an opportunity to get back at the people who have made his so unbearable it has pushed him to this point"

"So we're looking for a Vampire nerd, right?" Liz asked, a rye smile on her face.

"Not in the sense of pointy teeth and bats, no. There is no biological need to drink the blood. This is all psychological."

Colby leaned back on his chair "Revenge of the nerds!" Brooks smiled at the agent, he couldn't imagine that the people in the room had any real understanding of the mentality of a victim of bullying, the personality traits that made them so suitable as agents also meant that they probably had always been able to stick up for themselves.

"So, what's next?" Don asked. "The media is calling this guy the Wizard of Oz, if he has gone after courage and a heart, the next thing is going to be brains right? Like the Scarecrow in the story"

"No, I think this is where he will divert from the story. He already regards himself as smart, he won't see the need for brains. My guess is that he will go for another 'heart', pairs seem to be important to him. He may then stop at that or go back and start again, especially if he feels the effect is only temporary."

"Well, we can't sit around and wait for him to off the next person." David said.

Don thought for a moment and then spoke, "No, right. OK, David and Colby, look again at this guy Thatcher. What did he have that made the perp see him as a good source of heart? Liz and Nikki, I want you to chase up forensics, see if they have anything new" The team were up and out in less than a minute, keen to be working on something tangible.

"I need to warn you" Brooks said to the senior agent. "This guy isn't wasting time between kills already and the usual pattern for serial killers is they speed up as they get more adept and more confident at it."

"Yeah, I know" Don replied glumly, looking at the picture of Harry Thatcher on the screen.

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Charlie was at the water cooler having his first drink of the day, even though it was already 4 in the afternoon. Amita had nagged him into it after she had found out that he hadn't eaten or drunk anything since yesterday. Sometimes, Charlie despaired of his body, the fact that he had to stop to eat, drink and sleep otherwise he would collapse. He didn't have time to do all those things. Especially not now, he had thought about what his father had said and had decided to help Don after all, even if Don didn't want the help right now. He had persuaded Liz to get him copies of the crime reports and had been up most of the night working on equations he thought might pinpoint the next victim.

"Hey, Professor Eppes isn't it?" a voice cut across Charlie's thoughts.

"What, erm, yeah, I guess so."

"It is a pleasure to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." Charlie looked at the hand that was being offered to him and absentmindedly shook it.

"I'm Paul Smith, I'm the newbie in the physics department." The man continued, trying to catch Charlie's eye. "I was wondering if I could take an hour of your time some time to look over some figures I'm crunching as part of a study I'm doing"

"Yeah, yeah, sure but not now. I'm kinda busy with some other stuff…" Charlie trailed off. Paul could see that his mind was really somewhere else which was a shame because he really needed some help with the math. His project couldn't progress until he sorted out where the error was in his calculations. He followed Charlie down the hall to his office, trying not to step in the water that the Professor was dribbling from his paper cup as he walked. As he stepped into the office he saw Amita sitting to one side of the desk, grading some papers.

"Oh" he stuttered, "I didn't realise you had company." He knew Amita already but was surprised to see her in Charlie's office. _Where they an item?_ He wondered to himself.

"Oh, hey Paul" Amita greeted him with a warm smile. "I see you've met Charlie. Charlie, this is Paul Smith, the latest big thing in the physics department."

"What, oh, yeah, we've met." Charlie said almost dismissively as he leafed through a big pile of papers. Paul watched him for a moment and then looked across at Amita who shrugged apologetically.

"Listen, you're busy. I'll come back another time" and with a nod to Amita he left the room. Amita waited until the door had closed and then stood up, dropping her papers and pen onto the desk beside her.

"Charlie, that was really rude! Paul is new here and you made him feel like some sort of leper." She paused and watched as he abandoned the pile he was looking through and spun round to start opening filing cabinet drawers.

"Charlie! This has to stop, you haven't eaten, or slept properly and you are being rude to people." Her angry tone made him stop and look up. When she looked into his eyes she could see that his mind was elsewhere, retreating into the safety zone of mathematical equations and suddenly she realised how much trouble the man she loved was really in. She softened her tone.

"At least let me help. I'll get Larry, we can work on this together."

"Thanks, but I've got this. Can you help me find the report on the second victim?" Amita knew she should be angry at the rejection Charlie had just handed out but she knew that he was stressed and when he was hurting, he rarely thought about the impact of words, indeed, he rarely thought about anything other than numbers. She smiled softly and started sifting through the vast piles of paper.


	4. Chapter 4

An emergency call had gone out to the team, rousing them from their beds and dragging them into the office, not that any of them needed to be dragged. A fourth victim had been found; just like the others he had been tied to a frame and bled. On the wall beside him the killer had daubed the word "heart". As they gathered at the office, the agents were subdued, this new body was different, it was on their watch and therefore to some degree on their hands, each of them knew that if they had been a little smarter, a little more focused then number four might still have been alive. Quiet determination set into each of them as they met up in the war room.

Brooks had the team gathered round him, fresh photos of the fourth victim up on the screen. Don paced back and forth angry and frustrated that they hadn't got anywhere except a new dead body.

"Well, what do we know? C'mon, people are dying out there and we are no further along than before." He stopped pacing to look each one of his team in the eye. Liz spoke up first, matching his stare with her own.

"Path lab said that there were high levels of natural chemicals in his blood that indicate he was under a high level of stress before he died."

But I thought these guys were out cold, drugged up so that they wouldn't struggle." Colby pointed out.

"In all four cases, Rohypnol was found in their blood chemistry. In the first three cases, there were no indicators that the men had been stressed but this last one, there was less rohypnol, he knew what was happening…" Liz trailed off and the room fell silent as the agents considered the implications of this.

"So, let me get this straight, the killer drugs them, drags them back to wherever and ties them up. Then he slits their wrists, drains the blood and quite possibly drinks it. But this time, the guy is aware throughout it all?" Sinclair almost snorted in disbelief and disgust.

"No, not throughout." Brooks' response was quiet and measured. " I think he is upping his game. Bleeding them isn't enough anymore, like any addict he needs to increase the intensity of what he is doing to get the same kick. Most likely he is drugging them and tying them up, waiting for them to come round and then killing them. That way he increases his sense of power by watching tier reactions, revelling in their helplessness." He sighed heavily, "He is also speeding up his timetable, the time between each kill is getting shorter."

"But, he's working in pairs, we know that, right? So, well, we can assume that he will revert to 'courage' right?" Don looked around at the team for a response, he could see that the rest of the team were perking up. "So, let's work with that" He turned to the doctor. "right?"

The doctor looked at the senior agent for a moment and then spoke.

"We can't be sure that he will go back to where he started, especially if he is moving up a level. I would say that he is more likely to go for something else that he feels he needs. Something like strength."

"Why strength?" David asked, "Why not something else?"

"The things that he has gone after are qualities you would expect to find in someone regarded as a 'man' – courage, a good lover. I would say the next thing would be strength, after all the first two men he killed were both in very good physical shape and whilst that wasn't the key thing that he was after, he may have seen it as an added benefit and want more of the same thing, but a more potent form"

"Run their details by me again" Don asked Nikki who had the files in a pile next to her. She lifted two from the bottom and scanned through them.

"One was a lifeguard and one was a firefighter – both jobs requiring courage." She noted.

Brooks stood up to face Don.

"Look, the one thing these two had in common was that they both ran in the same park. Other than that they had different jobs, lived in different areas and use different gyms. I say we set some bait. If the guy is using the same hunting grounds then he is pretty cocky and we can maybe use that. He may hunt there again. So, we set a trap." He looked across at Granger.

"You like running?" he asked.

Don considered the idea and then looked across at the team and particular Granger.

"Well? Whadda we think?"

"Wait a minute, how come Colby gets to play bait?" Sinclair spoke up in defence of his partner.

"No offence Agent Sinclair, but he fits the victim profile more."

"Don, look…" Sinclair turned to his boss for help but Don just shrugged, he knew that David was still carrying the guilt over Colby's near death a few years ago and that he wasn't about to let his partner get into a precarious situation again but this seemed like a good plan and there were safeguards that they could take to ensure that Colby wouldn't get hurt. He looked across at Granger who nodded his assent.

"OK then, let's do it"

As the others prepared for the operation, Don sat and chewed his pen, looking over the files, trying to catch anything that they might have missed. The last thing he wanted was Colby ending up as the next victim, although he had total faith in the younger agent, the man certainly knew how to handle himself, he had proved that time and time again in the field and he knew that Sinclair would be on him the whole way, but still Don couldn't shale the feeling that there was something not quite right, something out of place. To make matters worse, Charlie's head appeared over the partition walls.

"Don, have you got a minute?"

"Not really, we're about to head out."

"Oh?" Don took his pen out of his mouth and looked up at his brother. He decided to tell Charlie about the op, show him that he wasn't always needed and that they could do things the old fashioned way.

"Yeah, Brooks believes that the killer is after strength now, Colby is going to act as bait, see if we can flush him out or at least make a mistake."

"Strength? What makes him think that?" Charlie demanded

"Oh, I don't know, years of experience as a serial killer profiler?" Don was getting annoyed at Charlie's tone.

"No, listen, I ran some numbers and I believe that he is after…" He didn't get to fininsh his sentence as Don cut across him.

"For crying out loud Charlie what is this? We have the best profiler in the country working on this and you, you think that somehow you know more than him? Is that it? No crime can be solved without the great mathematician Professor Charles Eppes' input? Charlie, how many times have I got to tell you, we've got this! We can do this without you you know! Go home and work on your convergence theory or something. I'll give you a ring when we've got the guy" Don could see Charlie reeling in the face of the verbal onslaught but he was angry and was happy to just let it all out. His brother's obsession with crime fighting since he had been stabbed was just a step too far into his territory. The arrogance of thinking that he could solve every crime. He glared at his deflated younger sibling, daring him to say something. When it was obvious that he had nothing to say, Don grabbed his gun and his jacket and turning his back on Charlie, left the room to join the rest of the team.

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A fresh breeze hit Colby in the face as he jogged round past the trees in the park. He looked at his watch for what felt like the hundredth time that hour and sighed with relief, in 15 minutes he could call it a day and hit the showers. The tape holding the wire to his chest was pulling uncomfortably at his skin and he could swear that he could feel the locator chip in his shoe every time it hit the tarmac. On the upside, he was getting to work out at work and he was pretty sure that his split times would improve if he kept this up. As he passed a waste can he tossed the water bottle he had bought from the cart half a mile back into it. This was one of the most popular spot with joggers and there were plenty of entrepreneurs looking to sell all kinds of aids from energy bars and glucose tablets to Ginseng and gurana drinks and good old fashioned water to help boost performance, or at least make the circuit more bearable.

He passed the black sedan that Nikki and David sat in. Further round the block, tucked out of sight were Don and Liz in a van.

"One more pass guys, whaddya think" he muttered into his wire. Don's voice sounded in his ear, reassurance that he wasn't out there exposed and alone. "Go to the end of the trees and then head for your car. We need to make it look convincing, just in case this guy is here somewhere, we don't want to spook him. We'll come back tomorrow."

"Got that" Colby replied and picked up his pace slightly, his breathing steady and even. He was half way along the tree lined avenue when he started to feel unsteady. Frowning to himself, he slackened off the pace and then stopped. He put his hands on his knees to support his upper body whilst he caught his breath. When he looked up, everything was blurry. He blinked and wiped the sweat from his eyes. To his surprise his legs gave out from underneath him and he hit the floor hard.

"Uh," he managed to gasp out, "Guys, I think I screwed up" and with that he passed out, unconscious before his head hit the floor.

The next runner that came round the corner found Special Agent Colby Granger lying in the grass under the trees, his face was bloodied, hanging out of his shirt was a wire that had clearly been ripped out from underneath it. Before he the chance to reach the stricken agent to offer help four people in suits, with guns drawn came flying round the same corner he had just rounded, only they were brandishing guns.

"Get on the floor, do it now!" one yelled. Brian Delaney, 42, three kids, senior sales exec for Prestatyn Snap Tools did not need to be told twice. He threw himself to the floor and buried his face in the grass and weeds mumbling a quick prayer to whoever might be listening at the time.

Whilst Nikki cuffed the unfortunate jogger, Don and David were assessing the damage done to Colby. #

"He's still breathing!" David shouted his fingers pressed to Colby's bloodied neck. He studied his partner's face and began swearing. There was a deep gash across the bridge of his nose and his cheek was swelling, Sinclair could also see fresh red bruising rising to the surface in patches on his face.

"He's been kicked in the face" he reported to Don who was yelling into his cell about needed an ambulance. He scanned down the inert form of Granger, noting thankfully that there were no other obvious blood stains. Don put his cell away and crouched down next to Sinclair.

"He's taken a beating" was all he said. Whilst they waited for an ambulance Don threaded a twig under Colby's exposed wire.

"Looks like we attracted his attention. Musta found the wire and it scared him off."

"Not before he tried to rearrange Colby's face." David put a reassuring hand on his partner's shoulder.

"Hang in there, bro. Bus is on its way. Have you fixed up and back on your feet in no time"

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Back in the war room the mood was subdued, the team were worried about Colby but they were also frustrated that they had failed to catch the so called Wizard of Oz killer. Nobody really spoke much, lost in their own thoughts.

Don walked in.

"It was definitely rohypnol that was used to knock Colby out. Lab results from the water bottle Colby bought show that the drink was laced with it. It is tasteless, colourless and odourless so there was no way that Colby would have known his water was spiked."

"What's the news on him?" Liz asked.

"Broken hand, bust nose, split lip, some cuts and bruises and by all accounts being such a pain in the ass they are happy to release him. I told him to go home but he is determined to come in. He'll be back this afternoon" He looked across at David as he spoke. As Colby's partner there was an unspoken understanding that the men looked out for each other. Don knew that David had to be feeling like he had let Granger down some how, no matter what anyway else said to him. He was pleased to see Sinclair nod when he heard the news that Granger would be back later that day.

"So what else do we know?" he asked the room. At that moment Charlie walked in.


	5. Chapter 5

The present…

Later on, when Don tried to recall everything that had happened that day, he realised that there were certain parts where he could only remember snapshots, like photographs snapping in and out of view. He could recall the sensation of Charlie's weight being lifted from him, but couldn't say who had taken him. He had no recollection of how he had got into the ambulance with his brother; there were just faces, noise and flashing lights. The first thing he truly remembered with any clarity was Colby's face at the ambulance door, calling his name….

"Don, Don! Call us when you know something." Granger's voice snapped Don out of his shocked state. Everything suddenly swam back into focus and lights and noise assaulted his ears. He nodded tersely at the junior agent as he reached to slam the door shut. As soon as the doors were closed the chaos beyond the ambulance was instantly cut off, leaving Don alone with his brother and the paramedic. The vehicle lurched into life, forcing Don to reach out a hand and grabbed something solid to steady himself before he fell to the floor. He could hear the siren wailing as the ambulance cut a path through the traffic, helped by the police escort rider who was clearing the way ahead.

Don looked across at his baby brother laying so still on the gurney his face pale against his dark curls. The sheets beneath him were already covered with blood, the reddish brown stain saturating the cloth so much that a shallow pool had formed. Don noted the bandages wound tightly around Charlie's wrists, holding back the red tide that would wash away his life. He reached out for Charlie's hand and then thought better of if, pushing the half proffered hand through his hair instead in a gesture that to anyone who knew him, indicated that he was frustrated, angry and upset. The paramedic looked across and smiled reassuringly at him but his body language betrayed him and Don knew that Charlie was in real trouble. As the medic fiddled with the IV bag, squeezing it to push more fluids into Charlie, Don heard a sound that he would carry with him for the rest of his days – the flat, single note that announced that Charlie's heart had stopped. The paramedic shifted position and grabbing a pair of scissors, half cut, half tore Charlie's t shirt open. As he prepped the defibrillator paddles he yelled out to the driver.

"How long?"

"two minutes!" came the reply from the front.

Wasting no time, he pushed the volts of electricity into the mathematician's chest. Charlie's body heaved once and then fell back to the mattress. Holding the paddles in the air, the paramedic watched the monitor for a moment, his eyes flitting between Charlie and the monitor searching for any signs of life; then he pressed the paddles to Charlie's chest once again; the flat note rose sharply once and then tailed off again.

"Come on, come on" the medic muttered as he leaned across the stricken professor to begin manual CPR. Suddenly the sound spiked, then again, stuttering a little at first, then getting stronger with each new spike.

"Yes!" the paramedic shouted triumphantly. Don could feel the ambulance slowing as it pulled up to the ER doors and before it had even stopped the doors were opened and people were reaching for Charlie's trolley. The monitor was grabbed from its stand and put onto the trolley along with the drip, and then Charlie was pulled out of the ambulance and into the doors of the ER, the doors crashing back on the hinges as the small group of people rushed into the bright interior. Even as they ran with the gurney Don could hear medical team talking - the paramedic reporting the incident, the drugs and the life saving interventions he had taken to keep Charlie here with them – the doctors issuing instructions to the rest of the team and one of the nurses talking to Charlie to reassure him. Pushing Charlie through a door marked 'resus', the team span him round so that his head was away from the door. They pulled various machines on stands closer to the bed and began hooking him up to them. Some beeped into life immediately, others remained silent just recording what to Don seemed like meaningless numbers. Eppes watched as one doctor began to examine the pressure bandages round his wrists whilst another picked up a phone on the wall and arranged for blood to be rushed to the room.

Fear gripped Don him when he saw one move to stand by Charlie's head and tilt it back, pushing a laryngoscope into his mouth as he did so. It clicked gently against Charlie's teeth as the doctor peered into his mouth and down his throat. The doctor held out one hand whilst keeping the other on Charlie's mouth. A nurse handed him a long clear tube that he threaded into the younger Eppes' mouth and then down into his throat. After deftly pulling out a wire, the doctor attached the tube to a small bag and started to squeeze. Numbly, Don looked at what the rest of the medical team were doing. The doctor who had been looking at the pressure bandages started to gently pull at one, prying it away from the skin so that he could get a better look at the wound site. As soon as the pressure was eased on Charlie's severed wrists, blood welled up, staining his skin and spilling out of the side of the bandage, splattering onto the floor in big drops.

"Jesus" exclaimed the doctor as he frantically reapplied the bandage. "Ring the OR, tell them we have a gusher!" He glanced at his colleague at Charlie's head and saw him frown and gesture towards Don.

_Charlie's dying _thought Don _Charlie's gonna die right here and it's my entire fault._ _If you had paid more attention, you might have caught the guy. You would have been having a celebratory beer now rather that watching your brother die. _Why hadn't he paid more attention to what Charlie had tried to tell him after Colby had been attacked. The monitor began to whine its single, flat note again. Don closed his eyes and let the tears fall. _Let Charlie live. Please let my little brother live_ he prayed silently.


	6. Chapter 6

As Charlie walked into the bull pen Don turned to face him.

"Hey Charlie, what's up?" he said deliberately injecting a light hearted tone into his voice, but as Charlie drew closer, Don knew that his body language had already betrayed him.

"Hey Don." The voice was cool, the greeting almost offhand. To his surprise, Don found that Charlie's distance caused him some discomfort; unconsciously, he shifted his stance slightly. Charlie turned to face David.

"I heard about Colby, how is he? Is he OK? What happened?" Charlie fired off the questions one after the other without waiting for the answers.

"Why don't you ask me yourself?" Colby's voice came from behind him. Charlie turned to see the big FBI agent standing behind him; a purple bruise colouring one cheek; his bottom lip split painfully, a thick red gash running from top to bottom; there was a sticking plaster on the bridge of his nose and two small areas of bruising under both eyes; his left arm was in a sling and when Charlie looked closer he could see that the hand was in plaster. He ran his hand through his hair, distressed at the mess that his friend was in. The rest of the team crowded round Granger, directing him to sit down. A cup of coffee was put into his good hand as he sat in the chair that Nikki had pulled up.

"How ya doin' buddy?" Don asked.

"Not to bad considering I've been drugged up and beaten up" Colby shrugged and then grimaced as various bruised parts of him complained about the sudden movement. Sinclair caught the expressions and laid his hand on his partner's shoulder.

"Take it easy man, you should be at home."

"What? And miss having you guys looking after me?" Colby lifted the coffee mug up by way of explanation.

"An' there was me thinking it was our dynamic personalities that you were missing" noted Nikki dryly. She rubbed Colby on the arm "Good to have you back, man." The team sat around Colby in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts about how different the outcome could have been.

"We need a new angle". It was Don who broke the silence. "Where is Brooks?"

"I'm here, Don" a voice spoke up from behind the partitions of one of the cubicles. Brooks stood up as he spoke, so that he was in full view of the team. When he spoke next it was directly to Colby.

"I'm sorry." He breathed out noisily, "I never thought…" Colby waved his good had dismissively.

"Look man, I was as up for this as anybody. There's no blame here. I just got caught by surprise."

"I know, but if he hadn't seen your wire…." Brooks trailed off, not wanting to voice the thought the rest of the team shared. Don stepped forwards; it was time to push the team past the events of the day.

"OK, we didn't get our guy but we know more now, right?"

"Right." Liz picked up a manila folder and flipped it open. "Colby was dosed with rohypnol, just like the other vics"

"Hey!" Colby cut in "no slashed wrists or Jesus impressions, therefore not a _vic_!" Liz smiled at him then carried on regardless.

"He had spiked the water that Granger bought. We checked out the drinks vendor", she gestured towards Nikki to indicate that this was a joint effort and then continued "turns out that he has been subletting the cart for a few weeks now. Some guy offered him a big chunk of the profits for the use of the cart on certain days. Trouble is, no written contract was signed or even drawn up, he only knows him by the name 'Gordon Brown' no address, cell or e mail. It was all done face to face and in cash." She closed the file and put on the desk in front of her.

"Gordon Brown?" Don asked.

"Yep" It was Liz that answered.

"And the owner of the stall didn't suspect anything?"

"I don't think he is a big follower of international politics, or even the newspapers." Nikki commented. Don sighed.

"I'm guessing that if there were fingerprints on anything, you would have already mentioned it" Granger looked at the two women hopefully. They both shook their heads at him.

"Why would you just let someone use your cart when you know nothing about them?" Sinclair asked to the room in general.

"I would imagine that he can be very persuasive. A lot of serial killers find it easy to manipulate people with weaker personalities than them" Brooks answered, stepping out from behind the partitions.

"But I thought you said that this would be someone who was the victim of bullying, someone who needed to gather 'power ups' from other people?" Nikki asked, confused by the seeming contradiction in what the doctor was telling them.

"His so called power ups are for very specific things. As I stated earlier, I believe that the killer is intelligent; he sees no need to hunt for brains, so to speak. He would see his ability to manipulate people, like the drinks vendor, as part of is own skill set, part of the myth that is him."

"I disagree" Charlie's voice rang out, a little louder than he had hoped.

"Dr Eppes" he started but was interrupted almost immediately by Charlie.

"Professor" he corrected.

"Sorry, _Professor_ Eppes, Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you disagree?"

"Charlie…" Don cut in, desperately trying to prevent Charlie from embarrassing both of them.

"No, no Don, its fine. I'd really appreciate the Professor's input on this" Brooks smiled reassuringly at Charlie, encouraging him to carry on. "Why do you disagree?" Charlie shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, unsure whether to carry on or not, he could see the sudden rise in tension in Don's shoulders and didn't really want to antagonise his brother any more than he already had done.

"I did some calculations and the math suggests that he will need to go for 'brains' at some point; the probability of him needing to increase his mental capacity is quite astounding. As he attacks more people and needs to stay ahead of the FBI he will need to become sharper and more focussed. In order to do that he will need to get smarter."

Brooks smiled,

"That's an interesting idea but past experience has demonstrated time and time again that the one area that serial killers feel they aren't deficient in is the old grey matter. In fact they tend to regard themselves as ahead of the game in many respects and often they are correct. The more successful serial killers are incredibly intelligent people."

"Yes. Yes but, in this case the killer is seeking things that will make him more powerful."

"Actually, it's more complicated than that. We think that he is looking for things that will make him more masculine. Hence the strength and courage"

"Intelligence can be seen as masculine. The alpha male in herds and prides need to show not only strength but also advanced cognitive functions"

"Oh, I knew that I would like you," Brooks beamed from ear to ear, "but the bottom line is that this is not a herd animal. Serial killers tend not to possess herd instincts, they are more solitary creatures"

"But when you.." Charlie didn't get a chance to finish his sentence for Don grabbed Charlie by his arm, turning the both of them away from the rest of the team. He leaned his head in towards Charlie's and hissed into his ear.

"For crying out loud Charlie, this isn't the time for some sort of prima donna maths genius thing. The guy knows what he is doing, try losing the arrogance and accepting that for once someone is more expert at something than you. Just try a little humility, that's all I'm saying." Charlie started and pulled his arm away from his brother. He frowned at him and then ducked his head down avoiding Don's eyes. Don made a noise at the back of his throat, disgusted at the behaviour of his brother. This was so typical of Charlie, the minute that people dared to venture an opinion that didn't match his own… Don felt the anger rising inside him, a tidal wave of resentment and frustration at the arrogance of his brother that surged up from his stomach, crashing though his chest and swelling up into his throat. He clenched his teeth together as hard as he could, trapping it all behind them. The wave tried to force his teeth apart, to spill out fully vented into the room but he just bit down harder, his jaw aching with the effort of not speaking his mind. Slowly, much more slowly than when it had risen, the wave subsided, retreating back down into the pit of his stomach. He turned away from Charlie, his back a wall between them and picked up the folder Nikki had put down, pretending to idly flick through it. Charlie looked in disbelief at his brother's back.

"Sorry, Professor…" Dr Brooks put his hand on Charlie's arm to bring him back to the rest of them in the room.

"Wha? Sorry, yes." He was clearly still distracted by what had just happened. Brooks looked at the younger man in sympathy. It had been obvious to the experienced psychologist that the Don's reaction had clearly cut the younger Eppes brother to the core. To his surprise Charlie stormed across the room and grabbed his older brother by the arm and dragged him into the war room, slamming the door behind them both. The rest of the team looked on in shock as Charlie paced round the room. Don tried to get out but was blocked by Charlie who was prowling in front of the door like a wounded cat.

In the war room, Charlie seemed unable to find anywhere to put his hands, first they were in his hair, then on his hips, then waving in the air slightly, as if they were following some sort of inner dialogue. Then he began to speak. He didn't face Don as he spoke.

"I'm so tired of this. I can't do anything right. I don't know what to do anymore for you. What ever I do, you are angry." He paused and then turned to look at Don. "It's my fault, I know that." He punctuated his sentences with hand gestures. "You don't trust my math anymore, ever since you, you got stabbed; you say that everything is fine, it isn't. We aren't" Don folded his arms and waited for Charlie to finish, unable to trust himself to speak in case he said something that he really regretted.

"I'm so sick of this! I'm tired of being the bad guy in all of this. It's my fault Don didn't get the attention that he needed as a child, that he never got to play profession baseball, that mom came to live with me at college, that he almost lost his job, that he got stabbed…" Charlie threw his arms up in the air in frustration. "What I do here is important. You, you can't see that anymore. We're right back where we started. No, it's worse than that. We're back where we were when mom died. I've tried so hard, and I miss you. I really miss you. I love you and I want you back, I just want my brother back" He picked up his bag "I'm sorry, I can't. I need to,,," he was stumbling over his words as his emotions started to get the better of him. I gotta go…" and he rushed out of the room.

Don stood alone in the war room, reeling from the sudden onslaught. His first reaction was white hot fury; how dare Charlie come into his place of work and act this way in front of _his_ team; but as he stood in the room, glaring at the place where Charlie had been pacing his head began to clear and some of Charlie's words echoed in his head. "miss you…back where we started…" The last phrase stung. Was it true? After all this time, were they back where they had started? He took a small step forward, as if to chase after his brother and then stopped. No, he needed time to think, clear his head properly and get some perspective. He had never consciously blamed Charlie for what had happened, or so he had thought. He would catch up with Charlie later, they needed to talk, whatever happened.

Colby tried to intercept the younger Eppes brother on the way out.

"Whoa there Whiz kid, what's going on" Charlie didn't speak or even stop, he threw up a hand to ward off Granger's advances and carried on towards the lift. It wasn't until he stepped into the lift that he looked at Colby who had followed him across the bull pen. He was about to start yelling at Colby, to tell him to go to hell when he saw the ex soldier's bruised and battered face looking at him, concern filling his green eyes. He sagged a little, suddenly exhausted by his outburst. The lift doors started to close and Charlie slapped a hand on one to stop it.

"I'm sorry, but, but, I need time to think. Don and me…" he trailed off and let his hand fall from the door. They closed, cutting Charlie off from the rest of the room and from his friend. Colby stood and waited, staring at the line that separated the two doors, hoping that there would be the familiar ping and the doors would open, Charlie would step out and they could bring the brothers back together. A small sound to his left distracted him and he turned his head to see David standing besides him. Sinclair shook his head.

"I know you mean well man, but I think we need to steer clear."

"But it's Don and Charlie. We can't just leave it like this. They're family, man." He stood his ground for a few seconds more looking back at the lift. He lifted his eyes to the digital display and saw that the 'G' was lit. Sighing, he reluctantly followed David back into the bull pen.

By the time that Charlie got back to CalSci he had calmed down. He put his case down on his desk and picked up the mail that had been left there, looking for something to do so that he didn't keep replaying what he had said to Don; he had regretted his words almost as soon as he had stepped out of the lift at the FBI building but after much dithering on the threshold of the lift had decided not to go back up, it would only make things worse. He had just started to flick through the pile of envelopes when there was a knock on the door and Paul Smith popped his read round it.

"Er, hi." He could sense that all was not right with the maths professor, "maybe I should come back later" he suggested. Charlie looked up from his pile of papers, his face strained and weary.

"no, no, it's fine, come in erm, erm.."

"Paul" Smith volunteered.

"Yeah, sure, sorry." Charlie apologised as Paul came into the room. "It's been one of those days. What can I do for you" he asked, glad that a distraction was offering its services.

Well, I was coming to ask if you would consider casting your eye over my paper but I think that I'll wait for a better time." He stopped and studied the young professor for a moment.

"Look, I may be overstepping the bounds of office etiquette here as I hardly know you but you look pretty agitated. How about I take your mind off it and we go for a beer?" Charlie looked at him in surprise and was just about to turn down the offer when he stopped. _Why not_ he thought _might take your mind off the stupid things you said to Don._

"OK then, let me grab my coat. Where do you wanna go?"

"Oh, I don't know, let's see where the evening takes us shall we?"


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N - Sorry this took so long to get up, life took over for a bit. As usual, I own nothing and nobody.**_

The bar that Paul had suggested was brightly lit both inside and out, potted palms framed the doorway and wooden shutters acted as screens, allowing the people outside to look in and get a feel for the place but not to see anything too clearly, privacy from casual prying eyes was assured. Charlie recognised the name of the bar; it was one in a big chain of similar bars across LA, part of the growing corporate strategy to change the face of the LA drinking and clubbing scene. Paul pulled open the door of the bar and music and laughter poured out through the gap and into the street beyond the two men. Charlie hesitated, suddenly regretting the decision to take Paul up on his offer of a beer. He knew that normally he would have turned him down as he was not a big fan of crowded bars or even the whole bar room drinking genre, but the argument with Don had left him reeling and not thinking straight. It had seemed such a good idea back in the quiet sanctity of CalSci. Paul turned to see what the hold up was.

"You OK?" He let go of the door and stepped back into the street. "Listen, if you wanna go somewhere else, maybe somewhere quieter, we can do that." Charlie looked through the shuttered coloured glass windows at the smiling and laughing faces of the people inside. _Perhaps being in a cheerful atmosphere will work its magic on me and I can let go of this day. Relax for a while; forget about Don and the case. _he thought. He shook his head at Paul and then reached past him to open the door.

"I'll be honest, bars aren't usually my thing but you only live once, right? Let's go" and he smiled and gestured for Paul to go in.

The bar was everything that Charlie hated about public drinking. It was crowded and noisy with chatter. There was a crash and then a cheer as someone, somewhere in the room dropped a glass. He looked around, giving the space a full 360 sweep. To his horror he saw a band setting up in the far corner of the room, plugging their guitars into amps and tightening the screws on the drum kit. He must have groaned more loudly than he thought because Paul turned round and looked at him with alarm.

"Oh, you hate it." He stated simply, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"No, no, it's fine, it, it's just been a while, that's all. These days, I'm so busy with my school work and my work for the FBI, I just never get out. The best I hope for these days is a beer at home with friends." He pointed at the bar. "Speaking of which, let's get a drink before I am tempted to run screaming from this place."

Just as they reached the bar, a couple got up and headed for a table that had become vacant; seeing their opportunity, the two men grabbed the empty stools sat down and waited for the bar man to notice them. It wasn't long before two bottles of beer were placed on mats in front of them. As Paul curled his fingers round his, Charlie noticed that the knuckles were badly bruised and scratched, like he had been thumping something hard and unyielding. He nodded towards the damage as he spoke.

"That looks nasty? What happened?" Paul looked at his knuckles for a moment, turning his hand this way and that so that he could inspect the damage fully.

"Larry, that's what."

"What?" for a moment Charlie imagined Paul and Larry in a fight and had to shake his head to shift the image from his mind. He almost laughed out loud as he pictured Larry trying to bitch slap Smith.

"Racketball. I hit my hand on the wall."

"You played… no ignore that, _Larry_ played racquetball? Larry Fleinhart? The physist? The guy who has been into space, the guy who likes white food?"

"Hard to believe I know but I mentioned that I played and he said that he was looking for the opportunity to try something new, something a little more physical than the kind of things he was used to." He shook his head and laughed. "He wasn't much of a challenge at first I have to admit, but then he got the idea of keeping the ball in close to the wall and well," he lifted up his bruised hand, "you can see the results."

The two men laughed and then settled into an easy banter. Charlie was surprised how easy it was to chat to Paul and even managed to forget the things he had said to Don for a while.

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Don was uncharacteristically quiet and the team reflected their boss's mood. Nikki and Liz had gone to chase up some missing evidence from one of the previous victims and Colby and David were sat with the yellow pages in front of them ringing round storage units trying to find any clues as to where the next victim might be taken. Colby put the phone down and leaned back in his chair,

"Man, there are so many of these places. Who knew that the good people of LA would have so much stuff to store." He shook his head and leaned back to his desk, picking up the phone.

"I hear you" was all David said in reply.

Brooks smiled at the two men. The cohesion of the team had impressed him from the start and he knew that this was a good group of people to work with, he was confident that they would find the Wizard of Oz killer, he just hoped that it would be before he murdered another man. He switched his gaze to the brooding presence of Don Eppes, hunched over his files in what looked like total concentration. Brooks pursed his lips, trying to decide whether to approach the senior agent or not. He wandered over to the cubicle and tapped lightly on the top of a filing cabinet.

"Huh? Oh, hi." There was an awkward pause as the two men looked at each other, the Don realised what the good doctor was doing, creating a space for Don to talk about what had happened between him and Charlie. He recognised the strategy from his previous experience with the bureau shrink. He was surprised to find that he was not angry, in fact he was relieved, he couldn't talk to the team, they were all too close to both him and Charlie to be able to listen to him without prejudice or an incredible amount of discomfort.

"You have an interesting dynamic with your brother."

"Whu, what?"

"I mean, it must be difficult, working so closely in such a stressful environment with a family member."

"What? No, me and Charlie, we, we get into it sometimes but it's just a difference of opinion, nothing more."

"Seems like more to the outside observer"

"Well, no one was asking you to be an outside observer." Don was becoming annoyed with the profiler's questions and suggestions. He turned back his work, effectively dismissing the older man. Unfortunately for Don, Brooks had been a psychologist for too long to be put off by hostile body language, he could see the gulf between the brothers and also saw that it was in danger of widening irreparably. He felt almost obliged to help and so pressed on regardless.

"You know, it's normal to feel resentment towards someone you feel is responsible for hurt you have experienced."

"I don't feel like Charlie is responsible. You know this unit, the FBI, is more than the work of one or two people, and when things go wrong, it's usually more than one person's fault! The world does not revolve or stop revolving around Charlie!"

Brooks said nothing for a moment and then when he spoke it, he chose his words carefully.

"So, when an agent is injured in the field, like Agent Granger today, who is to blame?"

"Who?" replied Don, "You for the idea, me as I had tactical command, Colby for not being more careful and the rest for not being more observant."

"And when you got stabbed?"

"Again, me as I had tactical command and wasn't being careful enough, Nikki for not looking out and Charlie for underestimating the number of people that would be there. If Charlie had got his math right, we would have known what we were facing but he didn't, he made a mistake, like we did today and someone got hurt. When you make mistakes in this job, people get hurt! Charlie made a mistake. He is supposed to get it right!" Don was almost shouting now but as his last few words died away he put his hand to his head. This time it was Brooks that spoke.

"Charlie is not invincible; he is part of the team, a contributor. You already know this. You are struggling with the idea that what was a fixed point no longer seems to be one, but you have to remember, there _were _other factors that also contributed to you being stabbed that night." He smiled, "You do realise that you have put your brother on a pedestal that he can't possibly hope to stay on and now that he has fallen from it you are angry at him for not being everything you needed him to be. It's very interesting" Brooks went on, "How you and your brother both look up to each other so much."

Don didn't speak for a while; instead he just looked at the doctor as his words played over and over in his head. He thought over the way he had been around Charlie since the stabbing, the way he had been avoiding him, never having time for him. He was still angry at Charlie for what he had said in the war room, but he knew that time and talking would heal over those particular scabs. He spoke quietly, a marked contrast to his last words.

"I, uh, I wish I had paid more attention to the way I was treating Charlie. Maybe the stabbing affected me more than I thought. I thought I was OK, but it looks like I was taking it out on Charlie." He picked up a pen and drummed the end of it on the table. "But I think that we need to talk, I want him to understand that our relationship has changed you know, from, from where it was when mom died. I want him to understand that I don't think we are back where we started. We've come too far for that." He smiled. "Don't worry too much, Charlie has these tantrums once in a blue moon but he gets over them. I'll call him and arrange to meet tomorrow, get past all this… crap."

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Charlie's cell rang out, the bar was so loud he almost didn't hear it. He glanced at the caller ID before he flicked it open. Letters spelling 'Don' shone out dimly from the display. Charlie opened the phone, his thumb hovering over the reject button, then suddenly he pressed accept and put the phone to his ear. Paul lifted an eyebrow in surprise when he heard Charlie say his brother's name.

"Don?" he could barely hear Don's voice over the sound of the band. "Don, can you hear me?" he pressed a finger into his phoneless ear and twisted his head so that the noise of the bar was behind him, trying to use his head and body to block the noise.

"DON! DON!, I'M IN A BAR, WAIT, I'LL GO OUTSIDE, WHAT? WHAT? Uhh" he pulled the phone away from his head and shook it at Paul. "

Couldn't hear a word, I'm just going to go outside and call him back." Paul grimaced slightly but Charlie was too absorbed with getting his coat to notice. Suddenly his phone peeped twice. He read the display and then held it up for Paul to see.

"Text message" he said and started to scroll through the message. It only took a few seconds for him to read what was written and when he finished he smiled. Paul narrowed his eyes, waiting to find out what was happening.

"That was Don, obviously. Says he's sorry for being an ass and can he come over tomorrow to talk." Charlie started to put his coat on.

"Hey, where are you going?" Paul asked suddenly agitated. "You can't just abandon me in a bar. I'll look like a complete loser sitting here by myself!"

"I need to go home," he looked at Paul's crestfallen face. "Look, bring your work over tomorrow and we'll go through it together," he offered.

"Not good enough. If you are going to leave me here at the mercy of these people, the least you can do is have one last beer." Paul saw the hesitation in Charlie's eyes. "Hey, I'll even throw in a taxi for you straight afterwards." Charlie continued to hover, his jacket half on half off.

"Please?" Paul gestured with his head at the crowded bar. Charlie relented.

"One, I mean it, just one." He sat back down on the stool and waved at the barman.

"No, no, you are doing me the favour, I'll get these." Paul asserted, pushing down Charlie's waving arm and replacing it with his own.

"Fine, listen, I'm going to take advantage of the time to go to the toilet." And Charlie stood up and headed over to the men's room. When he returned there was a bottle of beer waiting for him on the bar, beadlets of condensation standing out on the glass, broken only by where the bar man had put his hand. A light froth was poking out of the top and Charlie found himself licking his lips in anticipation. He put the beer to his mouth and took a good swig. When he looked across at Smith he saw that the man had his own bottle held out towards him.

"To a future working relationship" Paul toasted and clinked his bottle with Charlie's. Both men took a mouthful from their bottles. When Charlie put his drink down, Paul noticed that it was already half empty.

"Wow! Beer monster." He noted dryly. Charlie picked the bottle up and finished the other half of the beer in surprisingly quick time. He looked apologetically at Paul.

"Sorry, but I really do have to go. Another time maybe?"

"Sure, listen, I promised you a taxi and I am as good as my word." He put down his own bottle, still half full and put his jacket on. "Did you get hold of your brother?" he asked.

"No, I'll call him in the morning."

"Ahhh, letting him stew a little?"

"No, not really, but he's busy and I need time to think. Listen, don't abandon your beer on my account. I can get my own cab"

"Not at all, I insist" Smith said firmly and the two men left the bar. As the fresh air hit Charlie his head swam, making him wobble a little. He shook his head and walked on a little further but it was still no better, in fact it was getting worse, the street distorted and went out of focus, he could feel darkness crowding in on his vision and he stumbled, unable to see where he was going clearly enough. He tried to call out to Paul but his voice didn't seem to work. Before he could do anything to help himself, the dark took over and Charlie slid into its depths.


	8. Chapter 8

**_A/N - I know this is short....but hey._**

Charlie groaned as he woke up. He instantly knew something was wrong, his arms wouldn't move. He opened his eyes and lifted his head, the sight that met his blurry eyes made his heart freeze. His arms were outstretched, pinned to some sort of frame work in a cruciform shape, he knew where he was and panic surged through him, he began to thrash wildly from side to side, trying to get free but it was no use, if anything it just seemed to make the bonds holding him there even tighter. He took a shaky breath in and tried to gather himself together.

_What would Don do?_ He thought to himself. _Think it through Chuck, don't panic. What do you know? What do you have?_ Charlie could almost hear his older brother's voice talking him through his panic. He closed his eyes and tried to recall what had happened.

Tears welled up in his eyes as his memory played tricks on him. How could he not remember how he got here? It wasn't even that his memory was patchy, he just couldn't remember anything useful.

_Rohypnol makes you forget__, it does that to you, messes with memories._ Charlie clutched at the fact and clung to it, repeating it over and over, afraid that it would dissolve into forgetfulness and that he would be left alone with a terrifying blank memory. He decided to check himself for injuries – his wrists were still mercifully intact – but he wasn't so sure about the rest of him, he looked over as much of his body that he could see and was relieved that there seemed to be no sign of blood. He sighed out shakily.

After a few moments he looked more carefully around the room, looking for something that might help him. The room was windowless, with a shutter door at the far end. It was lit by strip lighting which cast a cold, almost greenish light in the room. On his left hand side there was a small table with a bag and two porcelain bowls on it. The sight of the bowls made Charlie sag at the knees. The awful reality of his situation was pushing itself forward but he refused to acknowledge it by giving it words. Maybe somewhere, beyond all the math and rational thinking, he was responding to a more primeval belief – don't name the beast, don't summon it. It all got too much. Terror and panic consumed him, he opened his mouth and began to yell as loud as he could, thrashing around on the frame, logic abandoned for the simple need to survive. How long he kept that up for, he had no idea, but eventually, exhausted by his efforts, he had to give up, tears were streaming down his face.

He didn't want to die

He didn't want to die

Unfettered by the terror he was feeling, his imagination began to play awful scenarios out in his head, he saw his wrists being cut by a faceless assailant – a shadow figure, silent and dispassionate – his life pouring out as he watched on helplessly, pleading to the figure to stop. He tried to push the images out of his head but they were just replaced by ones where he was dying alone, in this cold, anonymous room. He began to speak, his voice small and almost imperceptible.

"Don, Don, help me, God, help me".


	9. Chapter 9

The mood in the office the next morning was tense, with no new body but also no fresh leads, the pressure was on the team to come up with something that would lead to the capture of the Wizard of Oz killer. Most of the team were on the phones calling storage firms to identify any unusual activity recently, but all they had turned up was dead end after dead end. Each person felt their frustration mount as they hung up on one firm and started dialling another.

Don would have given anything to have been on the phones at that particular moment. He was sat in the AD's office listening to the assistant director rant about public perception and press interest in the story. The one tiny consolation that he had was that he knew he was not suffering alone. Dr Brooks had also been dragged in to the office to discuss pace and performance in the case. However, the difference between the men was that Brooks was keen to discuss the minutiae of the case and his theories so Don was happy to let him take the lead.

As he let his boss's words wash over him, Don reflected on what they knew so far, which was, if he was honest, very little; and yet the man had laid hands on one of his people, put him in the hospital. It seemed to Don that this proved Charlie's theory wrong, Charlie was convinced that the killer was after "brains" next, whereas the FBI profiler Brooks thought that the killer already saw himself as smart, hell he had beaten up Colby within feet of the rest of them and had still managed to evade capture, and would instead go for something more physical. At this point Don's train of thought slewed off and he started to think about Charlie. He was keen to get hold of his brother, especially after the way things had been left the last time they had been together, but Charlie had not gone home last night. Alan had assumed, and Don was not inclined to disagree that after such an argument, he had most likely spent the night at CalSci, hammering out some math problem or other. Typical of Charlie to retreat into his world of numbers when emotions became too raw and real. Don made a mental note to call his younger brother as soon as he got out of the meeting. Don could see that the AD was winding up so tuned back in.

"and so, I don't want his turning into a three ringed circus for the media. Find this guy, whatever it takes."

"Yes sir." Don trotted out, almost a little too automatically judging by the look the AD gave him.

As the two men left the office and rode the elevator back to the bull pen, Don turned to Brooks,

"We need a major break in this case. We seem to be going no where fast and the guy is still out there, two steps ahead all the time and waiting to kill someone else." Brooks nodded in agreement.

"I think the incident with Colby may have spooked him, bought us more time. He may have lost a little confidence. Taken a step back and reassessed his methods of acquisition. The one thing that I doubt will have changed is that he still needs somewhere quiet to take his victims, dragging an unconscious or semi conscious man around is gonna attract attention." The elevator doors pinged open; as the men stepped into the bull pen Don interjected,

"Right, right, so he will need to take them somewhere that probably doesn't have 24 hour manned security, maybe lax with security cameras and so on." By now they were at Colby and David's desks. Don turned to the two men,

"Colby, David, get a list of all the storage lockers that don't have 24 hour manned security and have lockers that you can get a car pretty much up to the door." He turned to Liz and Nikki who had wandered over to be briefed. "You two, check the police reports, see if anyone is missing who fits our victim profile."

"On it." The two women headed back to their own work stations. David looked up from his computer screen.

"I have a list of 75 facilities that match. I'll use that program Charlie wrote for us." He paused and then went on "you know this would be a lot easier if Charlie were here" Sinclair waited for the explosion but to his surprise Don patted him on the shoulder instead.

"Couldn't agree with you more buddy, but he's not answering his phone."

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Charlie looked up in alarm as he saw the door of the lockup slide open. A figure entered the room, his face concealed by his hooded top. Charlie shrank back onto the frame, trying for some bizarre way to make himself smaller, less conspicuous in the hope that somehow the killer wouldn't notice that he was there. The dark shape made its way to the bench that had the bowls and the bag on it. Charlie could feel his heart pounding in his chest, hammering to get out. He tried to steady his breathing to push the panic back down. A gloved hand reached out and unzipped the bag, reaching inside it pulled out a metal scalpel handle and a small flat, metallic packet. The handle was put down on the table top then, slowly and carefully, he took the end of the packet between his fingers and thumbs of both hands and gently pulled two tabs apart, opening the packet as he did so. Inside was a single scalpel blade. Without touching the sharp parts, he slotted it into the handle and then held it up to the strip light, inspecting it by turning it this way and that.

"You know, when people slash their wrists to commit suicide, they often make a mess of it, using a blade that is too blunt, or going the wrong way along the wrist." He paused, "It's really an art you know." As he finished speaking, he put the scalpel down and turned to face Charlie. He stepped towards the frame until he was less than a foot away. Charlie wanted to turn away, not look into the eyes of the beast, but his muscles betrayed him and he stared into the void beyond the hood, transfixed by the darkness. Suddenly, the Wizard of Oz killer lifted both arms up dramatically, Charlie flinched, trying to avoid the blow he was sure was coming, but instead, the killer put his hands to his hood and pushed it down.

When Charlie saw who was standing in front of him his heart missed a beat. Paul Smith grinned at the mathematician and for one brief moment Charlie felt a flicker of hope rise in him. Then he remembered the blade that was waiting for him on the table.

"Surprised?" Smith asked

Charlie was too terrified to answer. The best he could manage was a tiny nod, his black curls bouncing slightly on his forehead.

"And I thought you were supposed to be a genius" Smith snorted. "You and your brother, think you are so smart. Did you know he tried to catch me by using live bait? As if I would fall for that."

Charlie said nothing, unsure whether a response would get him killed quicker or slower.

"Not too smart old Don is he? Looks like you got all the brains. Mind you, when I finish with you, he may come in handy yet. Him and the agent he sent to lure me in. I haven't forgotten about that one, oh no. Your brother, he reminds me of a lion. Those are qualities that I would like to have." He waved his hand in the air "will have".

The imminent threat to his brother sparked a protective response in Charlie. "Leave Don alone!" he barked at Smith, who stared in surprise for a moment and then laughed.

"Or what? You'll haunt me?"

"Why?" Charlie asked. "Why do this? Why kill all those people?"

"Simple, Social Darwinism I suppose. Survival of the fittest. I take the best qualities of those designed to survive, ergo I survive."

"Survive what?"

Smith gestured towards the door and the walls with his arm.

"Survive out there! It's a jungle. You can be murdered for your shoes these days, and not out of necessity but greed. What a society we have bred and how it now turns and consumes its creators. Schools are hot beds of gun and knife crime, the streets are no go areas, need I go on?"

Charlie shook his head, he had no real desire to listen to the ramblings of a mad man.

"Paul, let me go. You don't need to do this." He pleaded with his captor.

"Oh but I do. On so many different levels I do. But mostly for one. Knowledge is power."

"I don't understand" Charlie could hear the tremor in his own voice as he tried hard not to break down in front of Smith.

"I will drink your blood, take your intelligence and make it my own. Did you know that some civilisations found out that you could make a man's character your own by drinking his blood? Not in a vampiristic way but simply by draining the life force from him and then imbibing it. I'm living proof it works. And now, if you don't mind, we really must get on."

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David sprang up out of his seat and scanned the room for Don, seeing his boss in the war room he ran over and slammed the door open.

"I got it, Charlie's program spat out an address." Don got off the table he was leaning against.

"OK, let's go."

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Smith took a small bottle and some cotton balls out of the bag and opened it. He poured a small amount of liquid onto the cotton balls and then walked back to where Charlie was pinned to the frame. He swabbed both of Charlie's wrists down to the elbow and then returned to the table where he put the bottle and the balls into a clear plastic bag and sealed it. Taking the two bowls, he placed them on the floor underneath the professor's arms, taking care to place them exactly in the right spot. Charlie began to struggle against the bonds in a last desperate attempt to break free. He looked wildly between Smith and the door. Where the hell was Don? He willed the door to fly open, to see his brother, Colby, David, Liz and Nikki standing there, guns drawn, arriving just in the nick of time, but the door stayed firmly shut.

Smith walked to the table and picked up the scalpel. Charlie began talking, babbling, saying anything that might stop him, change his mind but Smith didn't seem to hear him. As he walked towards his victim he lifted the blade and with one smooth movement sliced through the skin and muscle in Charlie's left arm. Blood welled up immediately and began to plop into the bowl below. Smith watched for a moment and when he seemed satisfied, he moved to slice open the other arm.

"God, please, no, don't do this, please, please, listen to me. You don't have to do this. You don't need this, you are already clever, look at how you have avoided the FBI, please, no." Charlie let out a scream as the blade bit into his other arm, sending spikes of white hot pain along it to his shoulder.

As Smith put his equipment back in his bag he spoke.

"It won't be too long, and of course the more you panic and thrash around the quicker it will be. I'm afraid; I won't stay til the end." He turned to face Charlie. "I'm not interested in watching you die, I'm not one of those 'lights go out in their eyes' killer I just want what you have, had" he corrected himself. "I'm sorry, if that is any consolation. I liked you and wish that I had needed someone else but the bottom line is you are the smartest person I know." He nodded towards the rapidly filling bowls "I'll be back for those later. Good bye Professor Eppes." And without another word, he rolled up the door and stepped out into the night.

Charlie began to yell as the door closed, hoping that someone outside would hear him, but all too soon the door was closed and he was alone. He squirmed and pulled against the frame, but he could feel his energy quite literally draining from him. The sound of his blood pattering against porcelain had been replaced by the sound of it splashing into more blood.

His hearing became distorted; suddenly the hum of the lights and the splash of the blood sounded so far away. The room began to warp and then tip from side to side. He fought desperately to stay awake but it was no use and soon darkness overtook him, releasing him from the panic, pain and fear. As he fell into its depths his last conscious thought was of his brother.

"Don" he whispered as his head fell against his chest.

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Smith had already pulled out of the yard and driven off up the street when two black SUV's and a black van swept into the parking lot. Agents clad in bullet proof vests poured out and into the area. Two ran over to the small office and broke the door down. They returned moments later yelling a number to the rest of the team. They fanned out, guns drawn and surrounded a large storage locker. One fiddled with the lock and then pushed the door open. The agents piled inside, yelling and shouting, identifying themselves and that they were armed. Then one anguished voice rang out above all the rest; one word, one name – Charlie.


	10. Chapter 10

The single flat tone whined on and on, filling Don's head, pushing out all rational thought. As he watched the doctors fighting to save his brother, the flatline cut off the other sounds in the room. Don was aware that people were talking – he could see their mouths moving – but he couldn't make out what they were saying. The lack of sound only added to the sense of detachment he felt, like he was watching a play or a film with anonymous characters rather than real life and loved ones. He switched his gaze from the doctors to the growing pool of blood on the floor. The edges of the glistening, dark shape on the floor crept outwards as each drop of blood splashed into them. A medic, too focussed on his brother on the gurney to notice the hazard on the floor stepped in the pool and slid slightly, leaving a trainer mark on the white tiles of the floor. Slowly, the coagulating blood on the floor began to seep over the footprint, obscuring it from Don's view.

A sudden change in the tone snapped through Don's head. The constant whine had stopped and there was silence. In that moment, all the fear and emotion that Don had been holding at bay came crashing down. The silence seemed to last forever and for one awful moment Don thought that the ER had given up on his baby brother and turned off the machine. Bile rose in his throat and he had to grab a nearby trolley to steady himself.

Beep.

One single tone sounded out across the room. Don held his breath as he waited. _C'mon Charlie, fight, fight, _he screamed at his brother in his head. The team around the gurney stood still, all eyes fixed on the monitor. Don risked a look at his baby brother. His face was pale, his lips tinged with blue.

Beep.

Don felt his own heart crash against his chest as the second note rang out.

Beep.

"We got him!" one of the doctors yelled out. "Page the OR, tell them we are coming up now!" The tableau of doctors and nurses exploded into life once again. A medic grabbed Charlie's unbound wrist and began to strap it up again. Drips and monitors were loaded onto the trolley and Charlie was whisked to a waiting elevator. Don went to follow it but was stopped by a friendly but firm arm.

"I'm sorry, you have to wait"

"That's my brother, he, he needs me."

"I understand" the doors slid shut and Charlie disappeared from view. "But there is nothing you can do upstairs. When he comes out of the ER and is moved to recovery, you can see him then. There is a relatives' waiting room on the third floor, you can wait there and we'll let you know when he is out." Frustrated, Don swung away from the male nurse and looked down the corridor to reception. He began to head towards the exit, there were people to call, things to do he thought dimly. As he walked hi his mind settled onto one thought and one thought only.

…_my brother, he needs me _the words Don had said to the nurse echoed in his head over and over again. _Yes, he needed you. _He thought bitterly._ He needed you when he was being drugged, he needed you when he woke up and he was alone and terrified, he needed you when he was having his wrists slashed open… he needed you when he was dying._

His heart was hammering against his chest and his blood was singing in his ears as the enormity of what was happening and had happened hit him, _he was in a bar when you called, he never goes to bars_. Don bent forward and retched, unable to control the urge long enough to even contemplate getting a bowl or going to the restroom. _What if they hadn't made it to the lock up in time? Did they even make it in time? Was Charlie dying upstairs._ He thought of Charlie's face in the ER, the dark curls prominent against his too pale skin, the blue tinged lips. Don reached out a hand blindly and found a wall. Following his hand, he turned his back to the wall and then slowly slid down it. As he sat on the cold floor, he put his head in his hands and began to weep. Sobs came thick and fast and soon his whole body was shaking.

He didn't know how long he sat there for, sobbing into his hands and he didn't know how much longer he would have stayed there for if it had not been for a hand stroking his head and a familiar voice drawing him out of himself. He looked up and into the worried face of his father. Relief and guilt washed over him simultaneously.

"Dad". He managed.

"Shhh, Donny." The older man sat on the floor next to his son and wrapped his arms round him. He drew the man close and held him, rocking back and forth ever so slightly, just as he had done when Don had been a child, the parental need to comfort overriding all other emotions just for the moment. Alan closed his eyes as a single tear began to slide down his face. The two men sat together in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts. After a while, Don pulled away from his father's embrace and stood up. He offered his hand to Alan and pulled the older man to his feet.

"What happened?" Alan tried to keep any accusing tone out of his voice. It would be too easy to blame Don for what happened to his younger son for dragging him into a dark world that he was ill equipped to deal with.

"The Wizard of Oz Killer, he got to Charlie somehow. I don't know, I just…" he trailed off, unable to talk about what had happened to his brother.

"Well, where is Charlie now? Where have they taken him?"

"To the OR, they said I couldn't follow. Said I had to wait in the relatives room."

"That's just not good enough, I'm going to find someone, get this straightened out. They can't just leave us hanging like that." And with that Alan headed off to the main desk, leaving Don standing in the corridor alone again.

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	11. Chapter 11

**I don't own numb3rs etc, etc. Sorry this took so long (again).** **I was struggling to write this as it is the bridge between the attack and really getting the chase on and I was unsure how to tackle it. Hope you enjoy it.  
**

It didn't take Alan Eppes long to impress on the medical staff that, whilst he knew it went against hospital procedure, just how important it was that he was allowed upstairs to wait for his son to come out of the OR. With some reluctance a receptionist escorted Don and his father upstairs where they were ushered into a quiet room on the same floor as the operating rooms; coffee was offered and rejected and then the men were left alone to watch the clock on the wall. Don found that as he watched the minute hand clunk it's way past the small black markings on the white face, the panic and despair that he had experienced as Charlie had lain in resus fighting for his life subsided to be replaced by frustration and then eventually boredom. He had tried to strike up a conversation with his father to try to pass the time but one look at the anguished expression on the older man's face and the words had dried up on his tongue.

They had been sat in silence in the room for what seemed like forever when eventually the door opened. Both men sprang to their feet in anticipation, but it wasn't a medic, it was Colby. As the FBI agent stepped into the room, Don heard his father gasp, at first he wasn't sure why but then he remembered that Alan hadn't seen Granger since he had been attacked and time had not been kind. The bruising under his eyes was more pronounced now and his nose had swollen a little more. Don also noticed that Colby was carrying himself a little more stiffly than he had been during the day – _the aches and pains must really have settled in_ – he thought to himself. Alan approached Granger, his arms spread wide, his face full of questions.

"What happened to you? Don, what happened to the man? Colby, my friend, you are a mess if you don't mind me saying so." Colby's eyes flitted briefly to meet Don's. _Please don't tell him you were attacked by the same man who may have killed his son_ Don begged silently. He knew it would be too much for his father to find out at this point that they had already crossed paths with the killer once and failed to get him. To Don's relief, Colby just shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"Liz doesn't take kindly to people dissing her coffee" he joked. "Don, Amita is downstairs. The front desk won't let her up here without your say so."

"OK, OK, I'll be down in a minute. How, how are things going with the case?"

"Nothing yet. We're waiting on forensics to finish with the lock up, but that won't be until the morning." Colby looked across at the two men before he carried on. "How's he doing?" he asked softly.

It was Alan that answered. "We don't know. We haven't seen anyone since we got here. It's like they are keeping us in the dark on purpose." He threw up his hands as he spoke, his frustration apparent in his body language.

"Dad, I'm sure that's not true" Don protested. He turned to Colby and nodded towards the door. "I'm gonna go and get Amita, she should be here for when he comes out of surgery. He'll need a pretty face to look at and don't think anyone else in this room qualifies" he joked weakly. As he went to leave, the door opened and a green clad figure appeared on the threshold.

"Mr Eppes?" he asked looking questioningly at the three men in the room in front of him.

"That's me." Alan said hurriedly.

"You son, Charles Eppes, is on his way to recovery. The surgery was a success, we were able to repair the damage to his wrists."

"How, how is he?" Alan asked.

"It was difficult. The damage was quite extensive and things were complicated by the amount of blood that he had lost." He paused and looked at Eppes senior, "I should tell you that he isn't out of the woods yet. He has suffered what we call a Class IV Hemorrhage. This means that he lost over 40% of his total blood volume. This can lead to tissue and organ damage. What I'm trying to say is that he still has a long way to go. We're going to keep him sedated for the time being, give his body the best chance to recover." He nodded and turned to leave. As he opened the door he turned back. "Look, this is none of my business but someone who has done themselves this much damage needs help. If he gets through this, my office can recommend a good therapist." and with that he left. Don stood stock still momentarily, stunned by the parting words of the surgeon. He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. How dare he assume that Charlie had tried to kill himself! Who the hell did he think he was? He chased after the doctor, almost wrenching the door of the hinges as he went. Colby shared a shocked look with Alan and then took off after his boss, accelerating down the corridor to cath Don before he did something he regretted later.

_What is it with running and this job?_ He thought as he tried to ignore the protests from his bruised ribs and muscles. He rounded a corridor and was relieved to see that he had caught Don before Don had caught the doctor.

"Hey! Hey! Stop!" Don yelled down the corridor. The doctor stopped and turned to face the fury of the eldest Eppes sibling.

"Listen…" he started, his hands up, palms out towards Eppes in a gesture of conciliation, trying to placate what was obviously an angry, hurt man.

"No! You listen. That is my BROTHER you are talking about. He's not suicidal you jackass, he was attacked." Don pushed the doctor's shoulder, shoving him backwards a little towards the wall. Colby trying to grab Don's arm but he just brushed the hold off and Colby was in no fit state to go one on one with an angry Don Eppes.

"You heard of the Wizard of Oz killer in that little ivory tower of yours?" Don raged at the now pale doctor, jabbing his finger into the green scrub top with every word. "So far my brother is the only survivor. Is that the action of a man determined to give up on life? Don't talk to my father about psychological damage when you know nothing about what is going on!" Slowly, as he yelled the red mist that had descended started to clear and he could hear Colby's voice calling his name. He pulled back his arm and straightened up, taking a proper look at the doctors terrified face.

"Ah!" Don spat, waving an arm as if to dismiss the doctor and then he stormed away leaving Colby to apologise and explain to the shaking medic.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize, no one told us…" the doctor trailed off, watching the retreating back of the FBI agent in charge.

"Sure, it's OK man. It's his brother, you know" Colby said by way of an explanation and then he made his own way back to the relatives room, hoping that by the time he got there Don was a lot calmer. He hated dealing with angry people and Don could be one of the angriest he knew. He sighed and limped off down the corridor.

When Don got back to the relatives room his father was sitting on the couch with Amita. She leapt to her feet when she saw Don. He saw that she had been crying and her lip was trembling even now. Wordlessly he took her in his arms and gave her a long hug, rocking her gently as she cried. Eventually she regained her composure and pulled away.

"They, they weren't going to let me up here and Colby had been gone for such a long time. David, he persuaded them to let me in. Oh Don," she shuddered a little. "What happened? How could this happen?"

Don just shook his head.

"I don't know but I intend to find out. Listen Amita, did Charlie say anything to you about maybe feeling like he was being watched or followed?"

"No, no, not at all. He was, well, Charlie. Always preoccupied. I was surprised when he went out for a beer."

"Who did he go with?"

"Paul Smith, a physics professor from Cal Sci"

"We're gonna need to talk to him, see if he saw anything unusual." Amita nodded and pulled out her PDA, she scrolled through to her contacts page and gave Don the number of Smith's office. Don thanked her with a reassuring smile

"We'll get him" he promised and then turned to his father

"I'm gonna head back to the office. I need to follow this up," he said, feeling suddenly better. Strangely, working the case took the emotion out of it all and he almost got some comfort from feeling the thrill of the chase, even though it was so painfully close to home this time. Unfortunately, Alan didn't share the feeling

"What do you mean you are going back to the office. Your brother has just come out of surgery and you are going back to work? You need to be here, that's where you need to be, not in some office staring at mugshots and interviewing people . You have a team for that."

"Dad, I can't do anything to help Charlie here, maybe if I go back to the FBI I can find the son of a bitch that did this to my brother. Sitting here helps no one and it's not what Charlie would want Dad, you know that. He, he would be horrified if he thought that you and I were just sitting here watching the clock whilst the guy responsible is still out there." The two Eppes men looked at each other for a moment and then Alan nodded.

"Go, go then. Find the bastard that did this to your brother. I'll call if there is any news. And don't let Colby drive, with that hand of his, he'll have you in a ditch in no time and I can't be at the bedside of both my sons at the same time." Don smiled and patted his father on the arm

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The bull pen was buzzing with activity despite the late hour; one of their own was down and the team would not rest until they caught the man responsible. As Don looked round the room, he realised that there were a lot more people here that his team and the regular shift. Granger saw the look of surprise on his face,

"Word travels fast. When people heard that it was Charlie man, they came in in droves." Don was lost for words as his emotions almost got the better of him. He coughed back a sob and took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, his other one on his hip as he surveyed the room.

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything. He is one of our own and you know we go all the way for one of our own" Colby patted Don on the shoulder with his good hand and then wandered off to find his partner.

Five minutes later the team and what felt like every shift from that floor was in the war room. Men and women were perched on tables, sat on chairs or squashed up along the walls. As Don gazed out across the sea of faces, he could see a range of emotions and expressions – determination, sympathy, expectation, fear – and knew that the whole room was with him and with this group of people, he would find the Wizard of Oz killer. There was no longer and if, just a when.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N - I own nothing and nobody. It's all for fun. In case anyone notices, I've changed this very slightly as I dropped a real clanger...**

Everyone in the war room was quiet as they waited for Don to speak.

"OK, listen up. As most, if not all of you know, my brother was attacked by what appears to be the Wizard of Oz killer." Don paused, needing a moment to compose himself before going on. "Charlie, he, uh, he's out of surgery and we'll know more over the next couple of hours. On a personal note, I want this guy, not just because it was Charlie this time, but because we've seen what this guy can do. I don't want anyone else having to go through what we are going through at the moment. The faster we shut this guy down the better. With that in mind, I've authorised a news bulletin to go out that says that Charlie was found dead. I'd like that to be the official story for now. We have a witness who maybe able to identify the killer. I don't want the killer thinking he can stop that from happening." There were nods of agreement around the room.

"We have one possible lead. Charlie was last seen by a buddy from Cal Sci. Let's bring him in and see what he knows."

As the rest of the room dispersed, Don turned to his immediate team.

"David and Liz, bring him in and question him."

"What, bring him here?" David asked in surprise. Usually, witnesses were initially interviewed at home or work.

"Yeah, there's something off about this whole 'drinking buddy' thing".

"Boss, don't take this the wrong way but you and Charlie aint exactly bin talking recently" Nikki pointed out

"Yeah, I know, but _no one_ mentioned this guy. Not until Amita today. Just bring him in, Oh, and keep him away from Colby just in case. If he is our guy, I don't want him recognising Colby, not just yet."

Half and hour later a very bewildered looking physics professor was sat in interrogation with David and Liz. In another room, watching on screens were Don and Brooks. Both men studying Smith's face carefully, looking for small changes in expression or posture, facial tics, even which way his eyes flitted when he was asked a question.

"Do you know this man?" David held up the original FBI id photo of Charlie. Paul looked at it and then nodded.

"Sure, it's Professor Eppes, Math lecturer from Cal Sci, where I work." He turned to look at both Sinclair and Warner. "I don't understand, what's happening here?"

"How well do you know him?" asked Liz, ignoring his question; not allowing him to take control.

"Not that well, I'm new to the college and I haven't had the chance to meet a lot of people yet. Dr Ramanujan was kind enough to introduce us and I persuaded him to come out for a beer."

"Persuaded?"

"He's Professor Charles Eppes – who wouldn't want to go out for a beer with one of the most significant minds of our time?" Paul looked at Sinclair. "Anyway, I'd heard that he had been having some problems with his brother – some huge fight - apparently they are normally very close and he was pretty cut up about the whole thing, I thought that he could do with taking his mind off it. There's nothing worse than falling out with family." His eyes flicked towards the camera and then back at David and Liz.

David leaned across the table and glared at the Physics lecturer. In the other room Don sat upright in his chair.

"Son of a … Did you see that?" he exclaimed, turning to Brooks as he spoke.

"I did, but let's not get too excited. It might just be a coincidence."

"Or it could be that he is throwing what he did to Charlie in my face!" almost trembling with rage he focused on the screens again, waiting for the monster who had almost murdered his brother to slip up. _I wonder_, Don looked at the man in interrogation and noticed that his hands were discoloured, _if the bruises on your knuckles were put there by the harder bits of Granger?_

"What happened at the bar?" Sinclair asked quietly.

"We had a couple of beers, he got a phone call – seemed really pleased and then left. I offered to get him a taxi but he refused, I felt bad about that and so followed him outside but when I got there he was gone. I just assumed he had managed to get a cab."

"And you didn't think to call to check he was OK."

"No. He's a colleague, not my girlfriend. Why would I?"

"And you saw nothing unusual, nothing out of place?"

"This is LA and I'm from a small town, most things I see are unusual, but I this case no. Anyway, what is all this about?"

"Charles Eppes was kidnapped and murdered that night, possibly by the Wizard of Oz killer." Paul's eyes widened in shock.

" I..I …oh my God, I don't know what to say."

"There!" Brooks exclaimed triumphantly and pointed at the screen. "At that point there, did you see it?"

"See what?" Asked Don, transfixed by the image on the screen of the last man to see Charlie fit and well.

"He's lying. The way he looked to the right. He's recalling something."

"So?"

"If he was unsure what to say he would look to the left, the creative side. Instead he was glancing the other way."

"But he hasn't looked to the left the whole time he has been in there. He's looked at David or Liz. Apart from that one time when he looked straight at the camera."

"He doesn't need to. If his story is close enough to the truth and he is skilled enough, he can avoid simple pitfalls like that but this was too big, and he slipped up."

Don sighed and then smacked his hand down on the table hard in frustration. "It's not enough. There is no forensic evidence and no witnesses to tie him to the attack or any others. We can't charge him because we think he is lying. What's worse is he knows we may be onto him, have him as a suspect, so he will be ultra cautious." Don looked at the man in the room a few doors away and felt his heart start to pound. His instincts told him that this was the one, that he was looking at a man who had drugged and murdered at least four other people; a man who had drunk the blood of his victims. _But not Charlie's._ Don thought with grim satisfaction. _You didn't get Charlie's did you and I bet it is driving you mad._

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, Don swivelled round in his chair and saw Colby creeping in, a manila folder tucked under his arm whilst his good hand wrestled with the door handle. Brooks stepped smartly across the room and took the file from Granger and then helped him to close the door quietly.

"Thanks" Granger grinned ruefully. He held up the hand in cast. "A little hard to be stealthy and subtle" he noted dryly and then nodded at the file he had brought in.

"Preliminary forensics are back"

"What do they say?" Don asked, taking the file from Brooks and flicking through it.

"Not much that's useful. No fingerprints in the room at all except ours, not even Charlie's . The guy must have wiped it clean once he had Charlie where he wanted him. No DNA so far, except Charlie's, no dirt, oil, residues of any kind. Whoever this guy is, he takes OCD to a whole new level."

"That would fit in with the profile. People who are this meticulous in their planning tend to be as meticulous about everything." Brooks noted quietly.

"We'll have to cut him loose for now." Don said, Inwardly he was seething. He knew that this was the man, his gut told him and the way that Smith had taunted him just added to his suspicions. However, he had been an agent long enough to now that without any hard evidence, any attempt to keep Smith now might jeopardise anything more concrete they got in the future and he was determined to get him .

"Yeah, but he has to slip up some time. No one can be this perfect." Colby stated.

"Oh, Agent Granger, you'd be surprised."

"Right now, there's nothing about this guy that would surprise me" Don replied.

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Alan jumped to his feet as soon as the doctor came into the door. Amita rose to her feet more slowly, her face pale, her eyes red from crying.

"Mr Eppes?" the doctor waited until Alan nodded in acknowledgement before carrying on. " I'm Dr Wolfram, I'm in charge of your son's care now. You need to know that we have moved him to ICU now and have him quite heavily sedated. In fact, he is in a light, medically induced coma. This isn't something you should be unduly concerned about. We've done it as precaution to help his body to heal. As I am sure you already know, complications can arise when people lose as much blood as your son did. To avoid those, we are going to keep him under for the next 24 – 36 hours, depending on his recovery rate." Alan said nothing as the doctor spoke; he merely nodded, too shocked and frightened to take it all in.

"You are more than welcome to sit with him now he has been settled in ICU, unfortunately," he glanced over at Amita, "We can only allow one person at a time and we usually insist that it is family only. I'm sorry."

"It's OK, I understand" she turned to Alan, her voice small, but her eyes lit with purpose.

"Tell him, tell him I'm here and waiting for him. Tell him to do what he needs to to get better. Tell him that I love him." She lifted a trembling hand to her mouth and started to cry again, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold in the pain and grief she was feeling. Alan stepped towards her, his arms held out to comfort her but she shook her head and turned away slightly.

"Go." she said and waved a hand towards the door. "He needs you"

Alan followed Wolfram into a small room that was horribly familiar. The last time he had sat in one of these his other son had been perilously close to death and he had sat and played the waiting game, hoping that he would recover. This time, a different dark head was framed against the white of the pillow, his curls softening the outline of his head. _No father should have to do this twice _he thought bitterly to himself. The room was quieter than Alan had expected. All he could hear was the hiss of the ventilator as it pushed air into Charlie's lungs. Even the machines were silent, the only sign that they were even on were the various lights and numbers that flashed on and off. As he stepped closer to the bed he could see the white bandages on Charlie's wrists. Raw anger grabbed at his heart when he saw the damage that had been done to his boy. He wanted to find the monster that had done this and smash and punch until there was nothing left; he wanted to gather Charlie up in his arms and rock him, like he had done when Charlie had been a small boy with a grazed knee from falling from a tree or his bike, he wanted…he wanted…. He took a deep breath and let the maelstrom of emotions settle down, until he was left with just one, his undying and unconditional love for his boys.

As he took up, what was an all too familiar position at the side of the bed he said a silent prayer in his head, asking that Charlie be well and whole again and that Don be safe in his search for his brother's tormentor.


	13. Chapter 13

Don drummed his fingers on his desk whilst he waited for Dr Brooks, the FBI profiler to return from reviewing the interview with Paul Smith. As he waited his mind replayed various scenes from the last few days as he tried to put it all together, make sense out of it all. He was careful about what he allowed himself to think about and remember, there were certain images that would cloud his judgement and his thinking and he couldn't afford that, not if he was going to get the Wizard of Oz killer.

Four men had been murdered and there had been one attempted murder, the victim saved from bleeding to death only by the timely arrival of his team. He didn't attach any names to any of the victims as he mulled over the facts of the case; he wanted to keep his emotions out of way, keep a clear head. Each victim had been chosen for what they could give the killer – courage, heart and knowledge and he had daubed their contributions in large letters on the walls behind them.

Don knew in his gut that he had had the killer in the interview room only a few hours ago, but had nothing to hold him on. There was no forensic evidence, the guy was to careful, no witnesses, bar one who was currently in a medically induced coma, Don's stomach lurched as he pictured Charlie tied to the cross, blood dripping from his arms into bowls strategically placed beneath them to catch the precious fluid.

A sudden beeping noise snapped him back to the present and thankfully away from the awful memory. He flipped opened his phone without even looking at the caller id, just glad to have a distraction even if only for a moment.

"Don?" his father's voice was unmistakable. Don felt his blood run cold. Why was his father calling? What had happened?

"Don? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah." His mouth was dry and he could hardly speak. He stood up and began to pace around in front of his desk.

""I have good news. Charlie is making progress, they're going to stop the sedation and let him wake up naturally."

Don sat down heavily on the edge of his desk.

"Dad, that's just great. Did they say how long that might be?"

"It could be at least another 24 hours. They have to let the drugs wear off and then Charlie has to wake up in is own time."

"OK, listen, the moment he looks like he is stirring you call me OK, I want to be there when he wakes up. How is everybody there?"

"We're fine, fine. How is the case going?"

"We may have a lead." Don saw Brooks enter the bull pen and waved him over. "In fact, I'm hoping that we may be able to shut this guy down pretty soon. I gotta go. Call me." Don snapped his phone shut, stood up and walked over to meet Brooks coming the other way.

"Well? He asked.

"I think he's our man. I went with David and Liz to drop him home and went into his apartment. Sterile is the word I would use. White walls, hard wood flooring, very little furniture or surfaces for dust to land on. He had one book shelf that was dominated by physics books and self help books; NLP, that sort of thing. Interestingly he also had Charlie's book on relationships on his shelf. Looked well thumbed too. Set of free weights were in the corner. Looks like he tried to get all the qualities he wanted via the more conventional route and when that didn't work…" he trailed off.

"He thought he could just steal them from other people." Don finished. "How does any of this help us actually pin these crimes on him?"

"He's arrogant. He already has an inflated sense of self belief in terms of intelligence. Push hard enough, try to dent his ego and he may just slip up."

"Who will slip up?" David asked as he stepped into earshot. Don span round and saw David and Liz walking up through the narrow corridor that divided up the various work stations.

"Paul Smith"

"Talking of Paul Smith, I just got a call from Nikki." Liz said, "She and Colby were running a background check on him and found that the paper and credit trail stopped about seven years ago. Before that there was no Paul Smith, Physics lecturer."

"So who is this guy?" Don asked

"Well, seems the most likely candidate is a Paul Foster from Minnesota. He fits our guy's description. He's in the system because he was a ward of the court as a child. Nikki and Granger are on their way over with the details."

Almost on cue the two absent agents walked in through the elevator doors, Nikki striding ahead of Granger, who was limping and wincing at the same time. Nikki waved a couple of pieces of paper at the rest of the team.

"Paul Smith is really Paul Foster" she reported, "He was made a ward of court at the age of five after suffering abuse at the hands of his mother and her boyfriend. Shunted from one home and school to another, although he was identified as having very high intelligence, his IQ is around the 145 mark, which makes him borderline genius." Don laughed out loud suddenly.

"What? What did I say?"

"Nothing, nothing, carry on, sorry."

"OK" Nikki said slowly staring for a moment at her boss and wondering if the stress of the case had finally got to him. She carried on with her report. " He pops up again aged thirteen for animal abuse. Apparently he was caught tormenting the stray dogs in the neighbourhood."

"What are the specifics on the abuse he suffered?" Brooks asked.

"Dunno yet, those files are sealed for now. But because we are amazing we have already put a request in to have them unsealed." She turned and grinned at Grange who grinned cheesily back.

"That information could be quite important. As we are all well aware, abuse suffers often turn into abusers themselves. It would lend credence to the theory that he is the killer if we can tie the two incidents together somehow." Brooks pointed out. "How soon will we get the information?"

"As soon as the judge signs off on it" Granger replied. Don, who had been uncharacteristically quiet up until this point threw a question into the fray.

"This is all great and makes a good theory as to why it might be Smith or Foster or whatever, but it is still not enough to get bring him in again, let alone arrest him. He strikes me as being smart enough to plead poor boy made good, new name, new life and so on." The rest of the team looked at each other; they knew that their boss was right. The profile fitted and it was an important piece of the jigsaw that would be useful in any prosecution case; it did seem to point to Smith being their man but until they had concrete evidence there was little they could do.

"OK, so we bring him and this time we apply the screws." David suggested, his eyes going from one team member to the other as he spoke. "Colby and me get him in the room and apply a serious amount of pressure, see if we can get him to crack. Trip up somehow."

"It isn't going to work. He's too clever to fall for anything like that. He's spent too long planning this to let it fall apart so simply." Brooks said. "Bottom line is, we need to catch him at it. Or leaving behind evidence so damning that there is no doubt that it is him." He paused, when he spoke again, it was slowly and hesitantly.

"I have a plan but you aren't going to like it. We bait him again. We know who it is now and we know that his next target will be knowledge. He likes things neat, in pairs. He went after Charlie for knowledge and he will be looking to pair that up."

"Oh yeah, that's just great." Colby pointed at his broken nose, split lip and bruised face, "It worked out so _well_ last time" Brooks had the good grace to look embarrassed whilst he spoke.

"I'm sorry about that Agent Granger, I really am, but we are better prepared this time. We know more about him than he does about us. We can do it. He has no reason to think that we suspect him. He may be arrogant enough to think that he can carry on killing with impunity for some time."

"But if he is after knowledge, who do we send in? Fleinhart? He's the next smartest guy we know" Colby exclaimed. "I can see that working a treat." The room was silent for a moment as the team tried to imagine Larry trying to wrestle the killer to the floor. Don shook his head to clear the image and then spoke.

"Colby's right, we have run out smart people."

"Ah, no. Smith wants knowledge, not intelligence. What does he want knowledge about? With Charlie it was work related but this time it will be something different. What if we dangled knowledge about the case in front of his face. He may find it too hard to resist"

"So it has to be one of you guys" Liz pointed out, "David, you or Don. We're out as we have the wrong chromosomes and, well, no offense but Colby is in no shape to defend himself if this guy gets real physical."

"Hey, I can manage" Colby started to protest but Don cut him off.

"I'll do it." He stated simply. He looked at the faces of the people around him; his team. He knew that each and everyone of them would lay their lives on the line in a heartbeat to catch this guy, to avenge Charlie, but he knew that this was something that he had to do. Foster had made it personal and now Don was determined to finish it. To his surprise and relief no one objected; instead, they started to plan how it was going to happen.

"We arrange for you to meet him in a bar. He'll appreciate the symmetry" Brooks started.

"Get a locator beacon on you, somewhere he won't find it"

"keep a tail on you at all times"

The beeping of the fax cut through the noise of the agents. Nikki sprinted over and ripped a sheet from it.

"It's the file that was sealed." She scanned down it. "Says here he was repeatedly beaten up by the boyfriend, so badly that bones were broken. Apparently this went hand in hand with emotional abuse – told him he was weak, a disgrace."

"No real surprises there then." Brook said. "Sort of explains why has chosen to seek the things he has."

"Ok, so it's decided then." Don said "I'll get him to meet me for a beer and then hopefully he'll take advantage, drug me and I'll wake up with you guys battering down the door before he does anything too nasty." Don tried to force a smile but it was very half hearted. The team split up and went their separate ways to get ready for the operation until only Brooks and Don were left in the bull pen.

"Are you sure about this? I know it was my idea, but in truth I had more thought that maybe David could do it, he is a little less emotionally attached to the case than you." He studied Don for a moment before carrying on. "I know that revenge is in your heart and I can't blame you, to be honest I'd be thinking the same in your shoes, but don't let the monster consume you Eppes. You have to rise above your baser instincts. Doing this right will give you more satisfaction in the end than ending up out of the bureau or even in prison."

Don stared into space for a moment, his mind running through the image of Charlie tied to the cross, his face so pale and vulnerable, the blood pouring out of his wrists into bowls on the floor so that the sick freak that they were hunting could drink it. Don balled his hands into fists.

"Oh, I intend to do this by the book" Don said darkly. "Absolutely by the book."


	14. Chapter 14

Larry was chatting to Paul Smith in his office when Don entered. Larry leapt out his chair and rushed to meet the FBI agent as he stepped over the threshold. The sight of Smith sitting so casually in Larry's office made Don's stomach flip and he could feel his heart start to race. It took every ounce of will power that he had not to launch himself across the room at the man who had done so much damage to Charlie. He turned his attention to the worried face of Professor Fleinhart, glad of the distraction but before he could speak, Larry starting firing questions at him.

"How is Charlie? I tried to visit but they wouldn't let me. They said…" Larry continued talking, but Eppes didn't hear him, inwardly he cursed; at Larry's indiscretion and his own failure not to have briefed the physics professor before hand. It had been a huge oversight, perhaps a catastrophic failure and one that Smith had certainly not missed. It was almost indiscernible but He had twitched just slightly on hearing that Charlie was still alive.

"He's still alive, Oh God, that's such a relief" he gushed. Don had to give him credit, the guy was a hell of an actor. "Is he OK? You, you said he was dead."

"He's in a coma" Don said shortly, his mind racing, looking for a new strategy, trying to decide whether the old one was still viable. "We haven't been able to talk to him. The doctors say that he may never regain consciousness. I didn't want it released that he was alive for operational reasons." Larry stepped back and sagged into a chair, putting his head in his hands. Don felt a surge of sympathy for the little man, he hated deceiving him like this but at this point there was no other way.

"Listen" he said to Smith, This is gonna sound odd, but I was wondering if you and I could talk. Go for a beer or a coffee or something." He paused and did his best to look awkward. "It's just, you were the last one to see Charlie alive and well and I was wondering if he had said anything to you about us."

Don noticed that Smith had the good grace to look surprised at this request but quickly agreed.

"Sure, sure, anything to help. What about tonight, there's a coffee house just round the corner, we could meet there at say, oh, 8 ish? Please don't take this the wrong way but I'm going to steer clear of bars for a while."

Larry looked from one man to the other, his face thoughtful. He knew Don Eppes well enough to know that the FBI agent was hiding something and it was certainly out of character that Don would want to share something so intensely personal as the recently bad blood between him and Charlie with a complete stranger. He doubted very much that his suggestion of coffee was driven by guilt; Don struggled with his demons in his own, very private way.

"Don, can I speak to you a moment?" Larry asked.

"I'm, I'm sorry. I gotta go." Don ran his hands through his hair. "We're getting nowhere with the Wizard of Oz investigation and it won't be long before he goes after someone else." In that moment Larry knew that Don was lying. The FBI obviously had some sort of lead. It was strange that Don was reluctant to share it with him, with Charlie out of action, Larry thought that Don would have turned to him. Then it hit him. _They think it' s Paul_ he thought. He almost spluttered as he spoke but managed to compose himself.

"Sure, sure, listen, let me know when they start allowing people other than family to visit."

"Will do." Don turned to Smith, "See you at eight

Don waited until he was clear of the building until he dialled the office.

"Liz, great, listen, we're on but there is a problem. Smith knows that Charlie is still alive but we could still be OK. I want Colby to head over to the hospital as fast as he can, keep an eye on things there. I don't want Smith trying to finish what he started. Hopefully he'll have more sense than to go after Charlie again, but as Charlie is the only one who can tie him absolutely to these crimes I don't want to take any risks."

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Alan shifted slightly in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position in a chair that clearly was not designed for long periods of sitting in. He tried to focus on the book he had picked up from the gift store downstairs but found that he was reading the same line that he had been reading five minutes ago. With a sigh he slipped a makeshift bookmark in between the pages, gently closed the book and put it on the floor next to his chair. He stood up and brushed a stray lock of hair from his son's pale face, then he looked around at the machines that were keeping Charlie connected to the world, he didn't really understand how to decode the various numbers, lines and lights in to something meaningful about his son's condition but the fact that they were just there sent a chill through him. He knew the doctors had said that Charlie was making good progress, but if that was the case, why hadn't he woken up? As he reached down the bed to take his youngest son's hand in his, his fingers brushed against the bandage at Charlie's wrist. A mass of emotion bubbled to the surface; rage, grief, fear. A tear began to track down his cheek as he held Charlie's hand.

He didn't know how long he had been standing at the bedside crying when he heard a respectful knock at the door. Quickly wiping his eyes, he turned and called out.

"Come in!" Colby Granger walked in. The sight of the battered and bruised FBI agent almost made him start crying again. The Oz killer, the monster had taken so much. Alan felt like all of Don's team were part of one big extended family, with him as a father figure almost and any violence to the team felt like an attack on family. He gathered himself together and forced a smile at Colby. He noticed that Granger was still wearing his firearm and knew instantly that this was not a social call. Fear gripped the pit of his stomach.

"What is it?" he asked, putting aside any small talk. _Not Don, god please, not Don._ He thought frantically.

"Don sent me over" Alan almost sagged at the knees in relief. "We need to make sure that Charlie is protected."

"Protected? Protected from what?"

"The killer knows that he is alive. Don is worried that he might try to change that. I'm here to make sure that he doesn't"

"No offence Colby, but just you? I mean, look at you." Alan said waving his hand towards the plaster cast on Colby's arm and hand and the bruises on his face to emphasise his point.

"I have the best score out of the team on the range, I'm SWAT rated and I will do whatever it takes to keep you and Charlie safe." Alan looked directly into the green eyes of the ex soldier and his fears evaporated. He could see the inner steel in the young man's face and knew that the only way the killer was going to get to Charlie was to kill Colby first.

"I'll be outside" Colby said, sensing that Alan was feeling a little more reassured. "No body comes into the room without my say so, OK? This will be over soon. We're going to take this guy down tonight." And then he left Alan alone once again. Through the curtained glass, he could make out the shape of the FBI agent settling into a chair right outside the door. He turned back to Charlie.

"Everything is in hand here, everyone is doing their thing. Time for you to do yours and wake up, son".

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Don wiggled his shoulders and pushed his chest out.

"What's up?" Nikki asked

"The wire is pulling hair" he said grimacing slightly.

"See it as a free wax" she suggested. "Anyway, if we pull it off and reposition it, that will really hurt."

"You all set?" David asked, concern etched all over his face.

"Yeah, yeah, I think so."

"We'll have your back all the way. Tech have already got mini cams in place your earpiece is working fine and the wire is broadcasting loud and clear and we have your position locked on with the GPS in your phone and your shoe."

"Yeah, yeah." Don nodded as he listened to his second in command reel off the technical check. When he finished Liz ran through the plan one more time,

"OK, so, you meet this guy for coffee, feign a trip to the restroom, we'll have eyes on whether he slips anything into your drink. If so you wait for a few minutes, pretend to need fresh air and the 'collapse' outside. Hopefully, he'll take you to his new lair. We follow, bust in, save the boss and get the bad guy."

Don nodded at each stage. David looked at his boss for a moment before he spoke.

"Don, we all want this guy, but you need to be careful, OK. Don't take any chances, he took Colby down no problem and fooled a genius." Don nodded and then patted Sinclair on the arm.

"We'll end this tonight." was all he said.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N - I know that it has been a very long time since I updated this story. In fact it got so long that I thought that people would have lost interest in it. So I gave it up. And then I opened my inbox today and realised that at least one person out there STILL wanted me to finish it, so here is the next chapter. Apologies if you have been waiting. I have no excuse other than life. And I PROMISE to finish this story soon.**

**As usual, I own nothing and nobody.**

The street was busy for eight o clock in the evening. Cars swished past, their tyres flicking up the water that was being left by the sudden shower and people hurried by, clutching umbrellas and dodging puddles as they made their way down the street. The rain had cleared the air for a while and Don took a deep breath, savouring the cool, damp sensation in his throat. He felt the cool air slide into his lungs and felt a little calmer. He had chosen a seat by the door of the café; well in sight of his colleagues who were hidden from view in various vans and cars. He tried to peer out through the window, into the night to see if there was any sign of his quarry but the reflection of the café's lights made it impossible. He looked at his watch again and fought the temptation to speak into his wire in case Smith was out there somewhere watching him.

The rest of the team watched him from the white van they had parked across the street. Sinclair swore at the weather and lowered his binoculors, passing them to Nikki as he spoke.

"Can't see a damn thing with all this rain. What time is it?" he asked.

"8:05" came the response from behind the glasses. "Five minutes later than the last time you asked me"

"Do you think he'll show up?" David asked. Nikki sighed,

"You always this talkative? I can see why Granger opted for the hospital gig. At least it's quiet there. Yeah. I think he'll show up. Not that he'll be easy to spot now that it's raining. Too many hoods and umbrellas."

"I'm not so sure," said Sinclair "He must know we suspect him"

Dr Brooks leaned over from his seat in the front of the van to speak.

"He'll turn up because it gives him an opportunity to really show us how much smarter than us he is. He won't pass it up." He paused for a moment as a dark figure pulled the door of the café open and stepped inside. They watched as Don stood up and held out his hand.

"Paul, glad you could make it". Don forced a smile onto his lips and offered a hand in greeting. Smith shook his hand briefly and then took off his coat , shaking the rain off before he folded it carefully over the back of his chair.

"It's nothing. How is Professor Eppes?"

"You know…" Don replied shrugging his shoulders slightly. He was not about to start discussing his brother's well being with the man who had come so close to killing him.

"So, what was it you wanted to talk about?" Smith asked waving a hand in the air at a Gothic looking waitress, her black hair framing her small, pale face. She glanced at him and nodded, boredom etched all over her face and then turned back to the couple she was serving.

"I dunno, it's just that you were the last person who saw Charlie alive and well and I just wondered if you could think of anything that might help. Maybe you saw someone trailed off hoping that Smith would fill in the gap in the conversation. Don had discovered years ago that people seldom liked to just leave a sentence hanging. There was a need in most people to complete it, have a sense of start and end. Instead Smith picked up a stirring stick and began to fiddle with it, his eyes focused on the small plastic strip. He said nothing for a moment and Don wondered if he was going to say anything at all, then he looked up.

"I'm sorry. Maybe if I had been more vigilant"

"No, no, it's not your fault. Nobody's saying that. Look, buddy, I'm just trying to get an idea of what happened that night, you know?" Don grimaced as he spoke. He couldn't believe that he was comforting this guy when all he really wanted to do was take his gun and push it down the man's throat. He forced himself to look at Smith with an expression he hoped would be interpreted as sympathy. Suddenly, he felt a pain in his right hand and realised that he had clenched his fist so tight he had punctured the skin with his fingernails. Smith noticed it too. Don eased out his fingers and rubbed the sore skin.

"He's my brother. The idea of…." He broke off as the waitress came to the table. She looked at Smith expectantly, her pen hovering over the small pad she held in her left hand. He looked at Don's hand and then at his face.

"No, nothing for me, thanks" to Don's surprise Smith pushed his chair back and stood up. He reached for his coat and then spoke.

"You're upset. I'm sorry Agent Eppes. I'm sorry about what happened to Charlie and that I can't help you. But I can't. I don't have your skills for watching a room and spotting odd people in it. Maybe if I did, I could have saved him." He shook his head. " I have to go."

Don sat in shock as he watched Smith disappear into the night. No point in subterfuge now; he spoke into his wire.

"What the hell just happened?" There was a moment's silence and then David spoke.

"I have no idea, come back to the van"

"Is anyone following him?"

"Yeah, we've got two cars and a walker on him"

"OK, I'm on my way over." As Don reached into his pocket to grab his wallet he saw that the waitress was giving him a funny look; she must have seen him talking to himself.

"It's my invisible rabbit" he joked but she just looked at him blankly. Clearly Harvey the Rabbit had never made it as far as the Goth genre.

Don, Nikki, David, Liz and Brooks sat in the war room sipping coffee and studying various photos and reports about Paul Smith. They hadn't really spoken in the van on the way back to the office; disappointment that he hadn't attempted to kidnap Don had filled the small space, choking off any small talk. Once in the FBI office they had gone off to follow their own leads, regrouping in the war room after an hour to share what they each had. Occasionally one of them would look up and ask for a different document or image, but other than that they were silent, analysing the information in front of them for any small clue.

"He took the bait"

Don looked up from the thick manilla file he had resting on his knees at Brooks who had broken the library like silence with his matter of fact statement.

"Really? Cos I gotta tell ya, I'm feeling pretty OK at the moment. No woozy head, nothing"

Brooks ignored the obvious jibe.

"He made it clear that he values your ability to judge people. He said so in the café"

"So why not take advantage right then and there?" Don asked. Before Brooks could answer, David's phone beeped. He flipped it open and listened for a moment, then he suddenly leaped to his feet

"Well, put out an APB but tell them not to approach. Keep it on the quiet." He hung up and then turned to the rest of the team. "The tail lost Smith."

"What!" Don exclaimed. "How?"

"He gave them the slip. Don, he was two blocks from the hospital when they lost him. That was fifteen minutes ago."

It was Don's turn to leap to his feet. His face had turned deathly pale. "Call Colby!" he barked "Let him know Smith is loose." He grabbed his cars keys. "Liz, David, Brooks – you're with me. Nikki call SWAT and then join us" he ran towards the elevator his heart pounding. He hadn't taken the bait but clearly something Don had said or done had pushed him into making another attempt on Charlie's life. As he waited in frantic desperation for the doors to open and one single thought began to run through his head, pushing all others out.

Save Charlie.


	16. Chapter 16

The drive to the hospital seemed to take forever; it seemed like everyone was in their cars, trying to avoid the rain and Don felt like he managed to reach every traffic light just as it turned red, even turning the lights and sirens on didn't seem to have much impact as the traffic was just to heavy to get out of his way easily. Almost sobbing with frustration and fear, he finally pulled up outside the hospital and ran into the building, pulling his jacket on as he ran. Granger met him by the elevator on Charlie's floor, his face tense and his gun drawn, ready to protect his friend and colleague.

"Any sign of him?" Don demanded, pulling his own gun out of its holster and checking it quickly. Colby shook his head.

"No, nothing. Security have been notified and are looking for him and we're waiting on SWAT getting here. David and the rest of the team are on their way over." Don breathed out noisily, letting go of some of the tension that had driven him to screaming point only minutes earlier in the car. He pushed his ear piece deep into his ear and clicked the button on his radio a few times to check it. Just as he finished checking his gear, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open to reveal a small SWAT team, all clad in black standing in the small space. They spotted his and Granger's gun's immediately and raised their own weapons in response. The agent nearest the door barked out an order

"Put the guns down!"

Eppes and Granger immediately put their hands in the air and Don spoke to identify them.

"We're FBI, I'm the agent in charge, Don Eppes, this is Agent Granger. He moved his left hand to his jacket and slowly pulled it up to reveal his gold badge clipped onto his belt. The SWAT leader stepped cautiously from the elevator, his gun still pointed at the two men and looked more closely at the badge. After a moment he looked up and then jerked his gun at Colby. Granger slowly and carefully, pulled up his t shirt to show them his badge. The SWAT leader lowered his weapon and signalled for his team to do the same.

"Sorry about that" he said as the rest of his team stepped into the corridor. "Just saw the guns and decided to err on the side of caution. Can't be too careful, I'm Simmons" he swung his gun down and offered his hand.

Don nodded in agreement, the scar on his body a now constant reminder that you could never really be too cautious in any situation, especially one you thought you had a handle on. He took Simmons' hand and shook it, then turned and addressed the whole team.

"We've reason to believe that the suspect in the Wizard of Oz case is either on his way here or here already." Don reported. "We think he is after the only surviving victim, who is in room 240. We need to sweep this floor and make sure that it is kept secure. Colby, take a small team and check the southern end of this floor. Simmons, if you can take the Northern end and do a complete sweep there. I'll stay here and keep an eye on the vic's room. This guy is not stupid, in fact far from it. If you see him, report in and wait for back up." The men quickly dispersed, silently making their way down the corridor to begin their searches, whilst Don walked over to Charlie's room. He opened the door and stepped in quickly, his gun raised and following his line of sight as he swept the room. Satisfied that the room was empty, he took a moment to look at the still form of his little brother, his face illuminated by the eerie glow given off by the various machines dotted around the bed. Don walked over to the bed and tenderly brushed aside a stray hair lying across Charlie's face.

"I don't know if you can hear me buddy, but we're gonna get him, OK? And we'll get him because of you Charlie, you led us right to him. Without you we would be no further forward." He stopped. He knew he was rambling but there was so much he wanted to say to his brother, but he couldn't get it out. He took a deep breath.

"I gotta go for a moment, but I'll be back and then you and me, we're gonna have a talk about this whole coma thing. Hang in there buddy" and then he moved away from the bed and headed back towards the door and hopefully a confrontation with his brother's assailant. The news coming over the radio wasn't encouraging. In his earpiece he could here the teams reporting each time they found a room "clear" A familiar voice in his ear told him that Sinclair had arrived. He stepped into the corridor and closed the door to Charlie's room behind him.

The long, narrow space was quiet and still, Granger had evacuated most of the staff as soon as he had heard that Smith might be on is way. The rest of the staff were silent, sat at the nurses' station or in other patients' rooms. He decided that the rest of the medical staff should also be evacuated, at least until they had determined that the floor was absolutely Smith free.

He strode down the corridor and had just rounded the corridor when there was an incredibly loud bang, the floor beneath his feet shook briefly and then the lights went out. There was a scream at the nurses' station and Don ran towards it though the blackness, crashing into a gurney as he went. He pushed the gurney to one side and heard it clatter off the far wall as he made his way more cautiously to where the scream had come from. Running his hand along the wall made his way through the maze of twists and turns, trying to move as quickly as he could without crashing into anything else. There was a flicker and then the emergency lights buzzed into life, bathing everything in a yellowish glow. One of the nurses was standing at the station, her hand to her mouth looking very sheepish.

Don put his forefinger to his lips, indicating to the nurse that she needed to keep quiet and then waved his hand down wards. She stared at him wide – eyed for a moment and then nodded in understanding. Silently she slid behind the counter, out of sight. Don crossed the hallway and took shelter in a small alcove. He raised his radio to his mouth and whispered into it.

"Granger! Come in" He released the button and waited for a moment. There was only silence in his ear, then it crackled into life and Colby's voice came across loud and clear.

"Don, we're in the electrical room. Some one put a small explosive by the main box, blew out the lights and the elevator doors for this floor."

"Any sign of Smith?" Don asked.

"Not from our end. Don, if he was looking to get to Charlie…"

"Then we just gave him a clear run. Damnit!" Don started to run back towards Charlie's room. "I'm on my way back to his room" he shouted into the radio clipped onto his shoulder. Don sprinted along the corridor, realising as he ran, that in the darkness, he had taken so many twists and turns that he had become disorientated. The same few words came repeating in his head, over and over again.

"not gonna make it in time"

He stopped. The panic he could feel rising in his chest was blurring his thinking. He needed to get a better handle on the situation and himself. Looking around, relief washed over him as he recognised where he was. He was only one corner away from his brother's room, much closer than he thought he was. He ran round the corner and saw Charlie's door ahead of him. Running up to it, his gun held low in both hands, he could see a shadow moving behind the shuttered window. His heart skipped a beat. Positive that all the medical staff were elsewhere, the silhouette in Charlie's room could mean only one thing, Smith was already there. Eppes reached for his radio and whispered into it urgently.

"Granger, Simmons, Come in. I think Smith is in with Charlie, Where are you?"

It was Granger that responded first,

"We're on our way Don. Eta 2 minutes"

Two minutes. Such a short space of time but certainly long enough to destroy his baby brother. An image of Charlie, in bed, completely defenceless and once again at the mercy of Smith rose in Don's mind.

"too long. I'm going in."

Don took one hand off his gun reached out for the handle. In a way he was glad that it had worked out like this, just him and Smith. There would be no excuses, no running this time, Smith was his. He wrapped his fingers around the smooth metal and pushed down slowly. Taking a deep breath he pushed the handle down, raised his gun and stepped into the room.


End file.
